“Yes.”

“When was that?”

“I asked him why he’d done it.”

“And he said?”

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

“The only crime Jacob Hunt committed,” I argue, “is quoting from a movie as sappy as Love Story.”

“Objection,” Helen says. “Are we doing closings now? Because nobody sent me the memo.”

“Sustained,” the judge answers. “Mr. Bond, save the editorial commentary for yourself.”

I turn back to Matson. “How did that third interview, at the station, end?”

“Abruptly,” the detective replies.

“In fact Ms. Hunt arrived with me, saying that her son wanted a lawyer, didn’t she?”

“That’s right.”

“And once she made that announcement, what did Jacob say?”

“That he wanted a lawyer,” Matson answers. “Which is when I stopped questioning him.”

“Nothing further,” I say, and I sit down beside Jacob again.

Freddie Soto is a former cop whose oldest son is profoundly autistic. After working for the state police in North Carolina for years, he went back to school and got his master’s in psychology. Now, he specializes in teaching law enforcement professionals about autism. He’s written articles for the FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin and for Sheriff magazine. He was a consultant for ABC News on a 20/20 special about autism and the law and false confession. He helped develop the state of North Carolina’s 2001 curriculum about why law enforcement needs to recognize autism, a curriculum now in use in police departments around the globe.

His fee for expert testimony is $15,000 plus first-class plane fare, which I didn’t have. But we started talking on the phone, and when he heard that I had been a farrier, he divulged that he had partial ownership of a racehorse that wound up with flat feet. The horse meant everything to his son, so he had fought to keep the animal from being euthanized. When I suggested pads to keep the soles from bruising and wedges on the hooves with integral frog supports and a soft packing material underneath to realign the hoof pasterns by reducing the weight on the heels without crushing the horns and deforming the heels, he said he’d testify for free if I agreed to fly down to North Carolina and take a look at his horse when the trial was through.

“Can you tell us, Mr. Soto, would someone with Asperger’s syndrome have the same difficulties dealing with law enforcement personnel as someone who is autistic?” I ask.

“Naturally, since Asperger’s is on the autism spectrum. For example, a person with Asperger’s might be nonverbal. He might have a hard time interpreting body language, like a command presence or a defensive pose. He may have a meltdown if confronted by flashing lights or sirens. His lack of eye contact may lead an officer to believe he’s not listening. He may appear stubborn or angry. Instead of answering a question asked by an officer, he might repeat what the officer has said. He’ll have trouble seeing from someone else’s point of view. And he will tell the truth-relentlessly.”

“Have you ever met Jacob, Mr. Soto?”

“I have not.”

“Have you had a chance to review his medical records from Dr. Murano?”

“Yes, fifteen years’ worth,” he says.

“What in those medical records fits the possible indicators for Asperger’s?”

“From what I understand,” Soto replies, “Jacob is a very bright young man who has trouble making eye contact, doesn’t communicate very well, speaks in movie quotes from time to time, exhibits stimulatory behavior, such as flapping his hands, and sings certain songs repetitively as a means of self-calming. He also can’t break down complex questions, has trouble judging personal space and interpreting body language, and is supremely honest.”

“Mr. Soto,” I ask, “have you also had a chance to read the police reports and the transcript of Jacob’s recorded statement with Detective Matson?”

“Yes.”

“In your opinion, did Jacob understand his Miranda rights at the time they were given?”

“Objection,” Helen says. “Your Honor, Miranda is intended to prevent violations of an individual’s Fifth Amendment rights purposefully by the police; however, there’s nothing that requires the police to know all the inner workings of any particular individual defendant’s developmental abilities. The test under a motion to suppress is whether the police officer fulfilled his obligation, and that shouldn’t be flipped around to ask whether Jacob Hunt has some unknown disorder that the officer should have identified.”

There is a tug on the bottom of my suit jacket, and Jacob passes me a note:

“Your Honor,” I say, and I read exactly what Jacob’s written: “The test under Miranda is whether a defendant knowingly and voluntarily has waived his right to silence.”

“Overruled,” the judge says, and I glance at Jacob, who grins.

“It’s highly doubtful that Jacob truly understood Miranda, given the way Detective Matson behaved. There are things a law enforcement agency can do to make sure autistic people understand their rights in that sort of situation, and those measures were not implemented,” Soto replies.

“Such as?”

“When I go to police departments and work with the officers, I recommend talking in very short, direct phrases and allowing for delayed responses to questions. I tell them to avoid figurative expressions, like Are you pulling my leg? Or You think that’s bright? I suggest that they avoid threatening language and behavior, that they wait for a response or eye contact, and that they don’t assume a lack thereof is evidence of disrespect or guilt. I tell them to avoid touching the individual and to be aware of a possible sensitivity to lights, sounds, or even K-9 units.”

“Just to be clear, Mr. Soto, were any of those protocols followed, in your opinion?”

“No.”

“Thanks,” I say, and I sit down beside Jacob as Helen rises to cross-examine my witness. I am excited-no, I am beyond excited. I have just knocked it out of the park. I mean, honestly, what are the odds of finding an expert like this, in a field no one has even heard of, who can win your motion for you?

“What stimuli inside Detective Matson’s office would have set Jacob off?” Helen asks.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“So you don’t know if there were loud noises or bright lights, do you?”

“No, but I have yet to find a police department that’s a warm and welcoming space,” Soto says.

“So in your opinion, Mr. Soto, in order to effectively interrogate someone who has Asperger’s syndrome, you have to take them down to Starbucks and buy them a vanilla latte?”

“Obviously not. I’m just saying that measures could have been taken to make Jacob more comfortable, and by being more comfortable, he might have been more aware of what was going on at the time instead of being suggestible enough to do or say whatever it took to get out of there as quickly as possible. A kid with Asperger’s is particularly prone to making a false confession if he thinks it’s what the authority figure wants to hear.”

Oh, I want to hug Freddie Soto. I want to make his racehorse run again.

“For example,” he adds, “when Jacob said, Are we done now? Because I really have to go, that’s a classic response to agitation. Someone who knew about Asperger’s might have recognized that and backed off. Instead, according to the transcript, Detective Matson hammered Jacob with a series of questions that further confused him.”

“So it’s your expectation that police officers need to know what each individual defendant’s triggers are in order to effectively interrogate them?”

“It sure wouldn’t hurt.”

“You do understand, Mr. Soto, that when Detective Matson asked Jacob if he knew his Miranda rights, Jacob actually recited them verbatim rather than waiting for the detective to read them aloud?”

“Absolutely,” Soto replies. “But Jacob could probably also recite to you the entire script of The Godfather: Part II. That doesn’t mean he has any real understanding of or emotional attachment to that particular film.”