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evidence or not, his client isn’t guilty by reason of insanity because of a closed head trauma he suffered at the age of eleven. The theory, according to Campbell, is that Donny Ray went into a dissociative state—induced by the injury—before murdering Jamey and is unable to recall the event. Therefore, he can’t be held responsible.
    And then I keep forgetting things, and everything around me doesn’t fit, and that just makes it worse . . .
    Donny Ray’s comment boomerangs back, along with my previous thoughts about a potential dissociative disorder. Of course, until I dig deeper and examine that possibility, there’s nothing on which to base a concrete diagnosis. Since my patient is suspected of malingering, he could have thrown out the comment as a means to plant doubt. But his panic and confusion yesterday seemed so real. Is he sophisticated enough to lie that convincingly?
    I keep reading.
    As for his alleged intent to cover up the girl’s death by disposing of her body (an insanity plea no-no, which often indicates knowledge of wrongdoing), that’s explained away as also occurring during his temporary amnesia.
    I consider the likelihood, and something else flags my interest. Hiding a victim after murdering her can be an act of remorse. But people who dissociate aren’t able to feel much of anything, which is why they check out in the first place. If Donny Ray went into an altered state during the murders, his hiding behavior could have been part of an unconscious pathology. Since he allegedly racked up ten victims, I’m even more curious. But what would be the trauma trigger?
    While consistently concealing bodies is indeed an interesting and definitive pattern of behavior, it’s not yet at direct issue here. Until evidence is found linking him to the other disappearances, my patient only has to account for Jamey’s.
    Reading on, I find more to pique my interest. Donny Ray Smith is no stranger to disappearing bodies. The first person in his life to vanish was his sister, Miranda, when they were children. At that time, detectives zeroed in on the father as their prime suspect, but they were never able to bring charges because the evidence wasn’t strong enough.
    Miranda was never found.
    Just a coincidence?
    I scroll forward to the information about Donny Ray’s head injury. According to the medical reports, he claimed to have fallen onto the family tractor’s front bucket loader but couldn’t recall the exact date. Only that it happened the summer his sister disappeared. Nothing from detectives on whether they contacted the originating hospital to zero in on when the incident occurred. Nothing mentioned about it in the attorney’s notes, either.
    Interesting.
    About six months prior to Miranda’s disappearance, their mother passed away. Nothing suspicious about it: she had cancer of the pancreas. The father died about a year later of a massive heart attack, and Donny Ray spent the remainder of his childhood bouncing between foster homes.
    I’m about to open a file containing photos of the ten victims, plus Miranda Smith, but that last bit of info about his lack of a stable home life tugs me in another direction—or rather, the potential for answers does. An increasing pattern of antisocial behavior can often be a precursor to psychopathy, so I investigate whether Donny Ray Smith has a juvenile record. After scrolling through more pages, I find a section titled “Criminal History , ” but just beneath it is a rather rough-looking blank space.
    That’s not right.
    A juvenile’s criminal records are expunged when he reaches eighteen, but the defense team usually makes them available to experts. If Donny Ray has no history of illegal activity as a minor, this document would state so, as would be the case if his records remain closed. But seeing the header with only a gap beneath it raises my suspicions.
    I dial Donny Ray’s attorney.
    “Terry Campbell, please,” I tell the receptionist when she