witnesses, there is still the possibility of error. But forensic evidence leaves no room for subjectivity because it’s scientific, and juries believe science.”
Now that Al had offered his most compelling argument, he remained silent and his eyes ping-ponged between the judge and Katherine Foster.
“So what are you saying, Detective?” the judge asked. “Is there a question or request hidden somewhere in your narrative?”
“If there is any hope of finding the monster who killed your daughter, then we must perform a thorough autopsy.”
The judge stood up and wagged his finger at Al. “You need not lecture me on the merits of autopsies. But it’s much different when it’s a stranger. I want to preserve what little dignity my daughter has left. She’s not a laboratory animal or a cadaver, Detective. She’s our daughter !”
“I respect your position, Judge. And please understand that it is not my place to browbeat you or try to convince you to approve something you’re uncomfortable with. But I must tell you that a preliminary exam of your daughter strongly suggests that the perpetrator may have left a roadmap to his doorstep. He was careless, and the only way to benefit from his mistakes is through an autopsy. I can see how grief-stricken your wife and you are, Judge. My heart goes out to you. All I’m trying to do is to see justice served and to ensure that no other parents have to share your pain. I want to see this lunatic behind bars for the rest of his miserable life.”
Judge Foster glanced at his wife, his lips tight and his eyes glassy. Katherine nodded her head ever so slightly. “Okay, Detective,” the judge said. “This totally goes against our will, but you have my permission to perform an autopsy. But be warned. If it doesn’t further the investigation and lead you to her murderer, prepare yourself for professional suicide.”
Lingering longer than he had anticipated, Julian could still envision every detail of his experiments on Genevieve. Although the data he’d obtained moved him closer to his ultimate goal, he still felt haunted by the deep moral issues. He had gone through a period of self-recrimination, weighing carefully the delicate balance between righteousness and arrogance, clinging to the quote that now represented his conscience: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
After her death, however, these comforting words had lost their potency for Julian, so he found himself digging deeper into his psyche for further moral justification of his actions. Every fallen soldier back to the Revolutionary War died for the needs of the many. Had they not, America might still be under British rule. Every soldier in Iraq and Afghanistan risked their lives for the sake of all Americans. And during the Vietnam War, most of the 50,000 fallen troops were drafted into the armed forces and had no choice but to die for the many. Wasn’t it the same with Genevieve? Was she not “drafted” for the needs of the many?
He’d struggled with the notion of completely disposing of her body. That would have been his safest option, dramatically hampering the efforts of the police. No body. No evidence. It would start out as a missing person’s report. But after an extensive investigation, the authorities would file the case under Unsolved Homicides. By leaving her body at Mission Bay Park, Julian had placed himself at great risk. But he was not a barbaric murderer; he was a medical professional. How could he live with himself if he’d chopped Genevieve up in little pieces and dropped her remains in the ocean? It lacked dignity and proper respect. After all, in a sense she was a martyr.
When the idea to dress Genevieve in designer clothes first struck Julian, he immediately dismissed it as insane. But he was so burdened with guilt, the more he thought about it the more it appealed to him. He could have wrapped her in a burlap bag and it wouldn’t have made any difference.
Now that Al had offered his most compelling argument, he remained silent and his eyes ping-ponged between the judge and Katherine Foster.
“So what are you saying, Detective?” the judge asked. “Is there a question or request hidden somewhere in your narrative?”
“If there is any hope of finding the monster who killed your daughter, then we must perform a thorough autopsy.”
The judge stood up and wagged his finger at Al. “You need not lecture me on the merits of autopsies. But it’s much different when it’s a stranger. I want to preserve what little dignity my daughter has left. She’s not a laboratory animal or a cadaver, Detective. She’s our daughter !”
“I respect your position, Judge. And please understand that it is not my place to browbeat you or try to convince you to approve something you’re uncomfortable with. But I must tell you that a preliminary exam of your daughter strongly suggests that the perpetrator may have left a roadmap to his doorstep. He was careless, and the only way to benefit from his mistakes is through an autopsy. I can see how grief-stricken your wife and you are, Judge. My heart goes out to you. All I’m trying to do is to see justice served and to ensure that no other parents have to share your pain. I want to see this lunatic behind bars for the rest of his miserable life.”
Judge Foster glanced at his wife, his lips tight and his eyes glassy. Katherine nodded her head ever so slightly. “Okay, Detective,” the judge said. “This totally goes against our will, but you have my permission to perform an autopsy. But be warned. If it doesn’t further the investigation and lead you to her murderer, prepare yourself for professional suicide.”
Lingering longer than he had anticipated, Julian could still envision every detail of his experiments on Genevieve. Although the data he’d obtained moved him closer to his ultimate goal, he still felt haunted by the deep moral issues. He had gone through a period of self-recrimination, weighing carefully the delicate balance between righteousness and arrogance, clinging to the quote that now represented his conscience: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
After her death, however, these comforting words had lost their potency for Julian, so he found himself digging deeper into his psyche for further moral justification of his actions. Every fallen soldier back to the Revolutionary War died for the needs of the many. Had they not, America might still be under British rule. Every soldier in Iraq and Afghanistan risked their lives for the sake of all Americans. And during the Vietnam War, most of the 50,000 fallen troops were drafted into the armed forces and had no choice but to die for the many. Wasn’t it the same with Genevieve? Was she not “drafted” for the needs of the many?
He’d struggled with the notion of completely disposing of her body. That would have been his safest option, dramatically hampering the efforts of the police. No body. No evidence. It would start out as a missing person’s report. But after an extensive investigation, the authorities would file the case under Unsolved Homicides. By leaving her body at Mission Bay Park, Julian had placed himself at great risk. But he was not a barbaric murderer; he was a medical professional. How could he live with himself if he’d chopped Genevieve up in little pieces and dropped her remains in the ocean? It lacked dignity and proper respect. After all, in a sense she was a martyr.
When the idea to dress Genevieve in designer clothes first struck Julian, he immediately dismissed it as insane. But he was so burdened with guilt, the more he thought about it the more it appealed to him. He could have wrapped her in a burlap bag and it wouldn’t have made any difference.
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