Jolene found herself leaning forward.
“Most of us wanted to do something. Keith actually did. He joined the marines and went to fight terrorism in Iraq, where he saw some of the worst fighting of the war. Every day he saw friends killed or maimed; every day he wondered if the next step he took would be his last. He saw children and women smile at him and then blow up. He picked up the pieces of his best friend after a roadside bomb blew the young man apart.
“Keith is a soldier. I didn’t used to know what that meant, but I should have, because my wife is a soldier, too. I sent her off to war without a clue as to what that meant.” Michael turned, looked at her. “I’m proud of her service.”
Jolene caught her breath. He was talking to her. That was why he’d wanted her here today. So that she would listen.
“Heroes,” Michael said softly. The world seemed to fall away until it was only them, looking at each other across a crowded courtroom. “They are heroes, our soldiers, the men and women who go into harm’s way to protect us, our way of life. It doesn’t matter what you think of the war, you have to be grateful to the warriors, of whom we ask so much. To whom we sometimes give too little.”
Slowly, he turned back to the jury.
How long had it been, when he’d been talking to her, only her? A few seconds? A moment? It felt like forever. How long had she waited to hear that from him—I’m proud of you? Tears stung her eyes; she wiped them impatiently away.
“A soldier is taught to be strong and brave,” Michael said in a voice in which only she would hear the hoarseness, the emotion. “Not to need anyone. But Keith Keller did need help. He came home damaged beyond repair, suffering from nightmares.” Here, Michael looked at Jolene again, and there was an understanding in his eyes she’d never seen before, a compassion that had nothing to do with pity. “He wouldn’t let anyone help him, although his wife tried. But how do you help someone deal with horrors you can’t imagine? And how does a soldier come home from war, really? As a nation, these are questions we need to ask ourselves. In the case of Keith Keller, he might be sitting right there in front of you, but in a very real way he never came home from Iraq…”
For the next hour, Michael went through the facts of the case from the defense’s perspective, outlining PTSD and the failure to help him and the escalating anger and fear Keith had felt. “Keith’s friends and family will testify that he came home from the war changed, mentally broken. He tried to get help from the VA but he couldn’t, as so many other returning soldiers have discovered. He suffered terribly—nightmares, insomnia, flashbacks. He drank too much to mask these symptoms, and unfortunately alcohol only exacerbated the condition. It’s called post-traumatic stress and it is a recognized psychiatric disorder. It was around long before we had such a serious-sounding clinical name for it. In the Civil War, it was called a ‘soldier’s heart,’ which I think is the most accurate of the descriptions; in World War One, it was ‘shell shock,’ and during World War Two, ‘battle fatigue.’ In other words, war changes every soldier, but it has always profoundly damaged some of them.
“Like so many other soldiers before him, Keith came home jumpy, prone to violence, hyperalert, and angry. The facts will show that on the terrible day when he took his wife to the Pike Place Market, events occurred which reminded him of the war. Too much. In a single, tragic second, he forgot where he was, who he was, and he reacted on pure adrenaline and warrior training. In this fuguelike state, he shot his wife. Why? We don’t know because Keith doesn’t know, but expert witnesses will help us understand.”
Michael finished with: “Keith Keller didn’t have the ability in that moment to decide to kill his wife. In his mind, he was in Iraq, doing what he was trained to do. He never intended to kill Emily. Keith doesn’t need to go to prison, he needs help. This man who went to war to defend us needs our help now. How can we turn our back on him? What happened in his house on that terrible, terrible day was a tragedy, certainly, but it wasn’t murder. Thank you.”
Jolene finally released a breath. She had been mesmerized by her husband, transported, and she could tell that the jury felt the same way. It was obvious in the way they watched him, didn’t look away.
When he sat back down, Jolene felt the spell break, and she leaned back against the hard wooden seat. His words—his understanding—surprised and moved her. Deeply. She had spent all of her adult life in the service, and yet never had she been able to share that world with her husband. It had been the start of her loneliness, that separation, the start of their marriage’s fall.