It was April 2007, and Davis was with her 10-year-old son, Troy.
The fourth-grader was facing charges of criminal damage and burglary in Maricopa County Juvenile Court. He and a pal had gotten into trouble for breaking into a west Phoenix middle school and causing damage.
Because of the boy's tender age and serious learning disabilities, a judge had appointed two mental-health professionals to evaluate what the boy might know about the legal process and his place in it.
After separately interviewing Troy, each would file a "Rule 11" report with the judge listing their conclusions about the boy's competence to stand trial.
It was different from an insanity defense, in that the judge wasn't concerned with Troy's state of mind at the time of the offense.
The question on the table was whether Troy Davis was legally competent at the present time.
Records show that Troy, a special-education student at a small private school, is on psychotropic and other medications.
A few weeks before the session with Dr. Franzetti, Lisa Davis and her son met for about an hour with the other mental-health evaluator, psychologist Deborah Desprois.
Dr. Desprois concluded in her studiously detailed report to Judge Jonathan Schwartz that Troy "demonstrated no awareness or knowledge of the legal system, and expressed no understanding of any principles when I tried to explain them to him."
She said Troy knew nothing about the duties of defense attorneys, prosecutors, or judges, a key factor in Rule 11 reports.
Desprois wrote that Troy would not be "restored" to competence within the six months allowed under Arizona law to understand court proceedings. (The word restoration in this instance was misleading because it wrongly suggests that the boy once was competent.)
But Troy's mother did know how the criminal justice system works, specifically the competency-restoration process.
A teacher and doctoral-level psychologist, Lisa Davis had been teaching kids about it for years, including juveniles facing delinquency charges at the courthouse. (At the mother's request, New Times has changed Lisa and Troy Davis' real names to protect the boy's identity.)
Davis wasn't trying to pull a fast one on her son's behalf. She says she was more than willing to pay for the damage Troy had done in the school break-in.
But she also expected that the judge would dismiss the criminal charges against Troy because of his age and disabilities.
Davis says Dr. Franzetti's office at the Rio Salado Behavioral Health complex in Phoenix was crowded with parents and children with Rule 11 appointments.
That surprised her. She expected Troy's interview would take time, an hour or so, and she wondered how Franzetti would fit everyone in.
But people were moving in and out of the inner offices every few minutes, and someone soon ushered Davis and her son into Franzetti's meeting room.
Lisa Davis says Dr. Franzetti's court-ordered evaluation of her son took no more than five minutes and consisted of one question.
"Dr. Franzetti asked my son what the judge's job was," she says. "He answered, 'He's the boss.' That's exactly what I had told him before. Then Franzetti spoke with me for a few minutes. That was it."
Davis says she was "truly stunned" when she learned afterward that Franzetti's two-page report to Judge Schwartz said her son could be "restored" to competence within six months.
His report concluded that Troy currently was incompetent because of "cognitive naivety," an odd turn of phrase not found in the Psychiatric Dictionary, a go-to sourcebook for shrinks.
Franzetti claimed he asked Troy about the role of the public defender, to which Troy responded, "He is there to help me."
In response to an alleged question about what a judge does, Franzetti wrote that Troy told him, "He tells you to come to court."
Drs. Franzetti and Desprois billed the county $300 each for their reports, the going rate for Rule 11 evaluations.
Their differences of opinion meant the court would have to appoint a third doc to break the tie.
Forensic psychiatrist Jack Potts got the nod.
Lisa Davis says Dr. Potts interviewed her son alone for about an hour while she waited in another room.
Like Dr. Desprois, Potts concluded that Troy was incompetent and would remain so for the foreseeable future.
Judge Schwartz then dismissed the criminal case against Troy at a brief hearing.
Lisa Davis says she wanted to tell the judge about her and her son's troubling interaction with Joe Franzetti but didn't get the chance.
But Davis couldn't get it out of her head and, without fanfare, decided to stop teaching "restoration" classes at her school.
"I was appalled by what Dr. Franzetti did," Davis says. "He was so dishonest. He is running a racket and the courts let him get away with it. It wasn't about justice or doing the right thing for the child, for the court, or for anyone. It was about him making quick money."
Joseph Franzetti did not respond to requests by New Times for an interview for this story.
Dr. Jack Potts, too, was very disturbed by Joseph Franzetti's report in the Troy Davis case.
The veteran psychiatrist, who used to head the county's Forensic Services Unit, knew about Franzetti's checkered professional past, part of which was documented in an earlier New Times story ("Assisted Suicide," June 2005).
The story detailed how Franzetti lied in a medical record and afterward about meeting with mentally ill jail inmate Steven Cervantes on the day Cervantes committed suicide.
But Franzetti hadn't met with Cervantes that day, May 14, 2002.
More important, he had handwritten his notation in Cervantes' chart just minutes after the inmate had hanged himself in a holding cell at the Maricopa County Superior Court.
How Franzetti later avoided more than a tap on the wrist from the Arizona Medical Board will be explored later in this story.
Dr. Potts had written to then-presiding Juvenile Court Judge Emmet Ronan as early as 2005, expressing concerns about Franzetti's work in another juvenile case.
He says he heard nothing in response.
Potts tried again after Troy Davis' case was dismissed, this time in an April 2007 letter to Judge Schwartz and then-presiding Juvenile Court Judge Eileen Willett.
"I am seriously concerned about what appears to be unethical and possibly fraudulent conduct by a colleague," Potts wrote.
He noted that Franzetti said Troy was "oriented to person, time, and place [and] denied hallucinations or delusions."
But Potts wondered how Franzetti could have come to that conclusion if Lisa Davis was accurate and the doctor had asked Troy just one question.
Potts wrote that he had read another of Franzetti's recent evaluations quoting a different juvenile saying the public defender is "there to help me," and the judge "tells you to come to court."
That was precisely what Dr. Franzetti had quoted Troy Davis as saying.
Dr. Potts suggested something was amiss — either Franzetti mistakenly had duplicated his reports or intentionally was engaging in something more malevolent.
Potts concluded in his letter that Franzetti's work product "compromises the integrity of the competency evaluations and harms my profession and the public."
He tells New Times that his second letter to the court also was met with silence.
Judge Schwartz, who has retired from the bench, tells New Times that he recalls Potts' letter.
"I saw that the presiding judge [Willett] had been cc'd on it and thought she'd deal with it. I also remember a couple of defense attorneys showing me some of his reports — like he was using a form or something."
Joseph Franzetti continued to churn out his Rule 11 "evaluations" without a glitch. Indeed, the courts have appointed him to more cases since 2007 than any other mental-health professional.
Franzetti is, by far, the highest paid of the 44 mental-health professionals who contract with Maricopa County to provide competency evaluations.
In fiscal 2009, which ended last June 30, the county paid the doctor $227,999. The second-highest-paid was psychologist Joanne Babich at $183,332.
Most of the others collect far less, in part because it isn't worth it to them to spend hours — to do the job correctly — on a case for a mere $300.
Franzetti, though, bangs out his Rule 11 evaluations as if he's dispensing flu shots.
For this doctor, time definitely is money.
In addition to his constant work at the courthouse, Dr. Joseph Franzetti is medical director of Youth Evaluation and Treatment Centers and works part time at Rio Salado Behavioral Health — where he had met so briefly with Lisa and Troy Davis.
Franzetti said in a March 2009 deposition that he also regularly sees patients at a federal prison in Phoenix, and on the Pascua Yaqui Indian Reservation.
Dr. Potts was on the money, literally and otherwise, about Joe Franzetti, whose Rule 11 reports are more than slipshod.
In reporting this story, New Times obtained 48 evaluations performed since 2007 by Dr. Franzetti in juvenile delinquency cases.
To believe the doctor, 46 of the 48 must have been channeling the same muse. In all but two of his evaluations he quotes his subjects as telling him that the public defender "is there to help me," or almost exactly the same words.
Also, in just fewer than half of the 48 cases, Franzetti's reports claim the juvenile told him that the judge "tells you when to come to court" or something close.
That the quotes sometimes are slightly different from each other ("is there to help me," "is there to help me with my rights," "is there to help you," "is there to protect me,") suggests Franzetti doesn't simply cut-and-paste.
In each of the reports, Franzetti concluded that the juvenile was incompetent to stand trial but could be "restored" after taking classes and, in some cases, taking prescription medications.
To the contrary, a vast majority of mental-health professionals usually conclude that adults and juveniles over the age of 14 are competent to stand trial. (Fifteen of the 48 cases perused by New Times involved juveniles under 14.)
An "incompetent, but restorable" finding means lengthy and expensive steps that include classes, new testing, evaluations, and more court hearings.
Maricopa County's jurists have failed to notice (or have looked the other way) about Franzetti's continuing to repeat himself in his evaluations. Perhaps those judges and commissioners don't even bother to read the reports that are supposed to make all the difference in how they rule in competency cases.
Perhaps the doctor has provided the court with exactly what it wants, a quick answer to the ultimate question of whether a defendant is competent to stand trial.
One example occurred during a 10-day period in June 2008, in the courtroom of juvenile judge Dawn Bergin.
During that time, Bergin received at least three Rule 11 evaluations from Dr. Franzetti. Each of the juveniles in those cases allegedly told him that a public defender "is there to help me."
But one of those juveniles told the other mental-health professional assigned to his case that the public defender "is the guy who takes you away after you get into trouble."
It wouldn't have taken much for the judge to have compared those two dramatically differing accounts and, perhaps, considered what was going on and demanded an explanation.
But she didn't and neither, apparently, did any of the other jurists for whom Franzetti has supplied hundreds of reports.
Only since an alleged sexually charged August 25 incident at the county's Estrella Jail between Franzetti and a female inmate has come to light have county officials finally cast a closer eye on Joe Franzetti.
Maricopa County sheriff's detectives are investigating, says the inmate's criminal-defense attorney Amy Nguyen.
According to several sources inside the county's court system, Franzetti has not been receiving appointments to perform Rule 11 evaluations in adult court in the past two weeks.
But the same sources say the doctor still is getting appointed in juvenile cases, despite the ongoing investigation. (Norman Davis, the presiding Juvenile Court judge, was out of town and unavailable for comment for this story.)
At the very least, Joseph Franzetti continues to cost taxpayers an awful lot of money.
Forget for a moment that he's raked in hundreds of thousands of dollars by filing important evaluations tainted by obviously made-up quotes.
Think instead of the money — more than $1.2 million — paid to the survivors of two jail inmates (and a third who survived) in wrongful death/civil rights lawsuits because of Franzetti's failure to protect their lives by providing them even minimally adequate treatment.
In 2006, Maricopa County awarded Dr. Franzetti contracts to provide services to the Superior and Juvenile courts in adult and juvenile Rule 11 cases.
He won the jobs despite having been fired as a jail staff psychiatrist in the aftermath of his substandard treatment of the two suicidal jail inmates whose families later successfully sued him.
Asked to describe Dr. Franzetti, current and former colleagues contacted by New Times provided the following adjectives: charming, glib, self-centered, bright, and untrustworthy.
Joseph Franzetti is a lanky, good-looking guy who wears a dark mustache and carries himself with poise.
His career path to psychiatry is quirky: Born in New York State, he has claimed in depositions to have been a professional drummer (musical genre unknown) for a few years after graduating from Wagner College.
Franzetti moved to Mexico in the early 1980s to matriculate at the Universidad Autonoma de Guadalajara after failing to win entrance to medical schools in the States.
Franzetti's file with the Arizona Medical Board notes that he graduated from the Mexican medical school in 1989, after which there's a curious seven-year gap in his résumé.
"There was some employment, and there was a lapse for study time" is how Franzetti danced around a question about those years in a 2004 civil deposition.
The doctor said he trained as a psychiatrist at hospitals in Michigan, Massachusetts, and at the Maricopa Medical Center before landing a position at the Madison Street Jail in downtown Phoenix in 2001.
The job of jailhouse shrink includes speaking with patients, prescribing meds, making notations in medical charts, and constantly meeting with other staffers.
When Franzetti started work at Madison, he was assigned to look after 75 or 80 mentally ill inmates during a shift.
One of his patients in May 2002 was Steven Cervantes, a deeply troubled and suicidal inmate facing a lengthy prison sentence for an assault.
About 2:30 on the afternoon of May 14, Franzetti noted in Cervantes' medical chart that he had visited his patient that morning and that his condition was improving:
"No homicidality. No suicidality. No delusions . . . Should do well in general population. Inmate out to court."
But here's the rub: Just minutes before the doctor scribbled that positive entry into the file, sheriff's deputies found Steven Cervantes' in a holding cell at the downtown Superior Court complex, across the street from the jail.
The father of four had hanged himself with a makeshift noose he fashioned out of his socks and tied to the cell bars.
But Franzetti didn't mention that his entry was late. He wrote it as if it were contemporaneous.
Based on jail documents and Franzetti's conflicting statements in various legal forums, the odds that he ever saw Steve Cervantes that morning are negligible.
The doctor probably had spoken with Cervantes only once during the nine days of Cervantes' incarceration and had little basis with which to have written the upbeat notation.
Franzetti later swore under oath not to have learned about Cervantes' suicide until weeks later.
That remarkable claim came despite publicity about the suicide and the fact that it was the talk of the courthouse and the mental-health community. (It apparently was the first Superior Court suicide ever.)
Steven Cervantes' girlfriend and mother of two of his children later sued Joseph Franzetti and Maricopa County.
The federal case settled in February 2007 for $675,000, in part because of a devastating January 2006 deposition by Dr. Steven Pitt, who was hired by the plaintiff to render his opinion of Dr. Franzetti's work.
Pitt, a psychiatrist based in Scottsdale, told Franzetti's attorney that Steven Cervantes had been "crying out for help and the voice wasn't heard."
The defense attorney asked for other "crying out" examples.
"How about hanging yourself in a fricking police car, pardon my language, on the way to jail?" Pitt quickly replied, in reference to an incident nine days before the suicide, when Cervantes had tried to hang himself with a makeshift noose in a Phoenix police cruiser.
As for Franzetti's treatment of the late inmate, Pitt said, "I wouldn't even expect to see a first-year medical student do that kind of evaluation. That's how poor it was . . . It's an embarrassingly low effort that he put into trying to treat and understand this man. It's just bad work. Very bad."
In June 2006, six months after Pitt's deposition, the Arizona Medical Board convened to consider Dr. Franzetti's work in the Steven Cervantes case.
The board took on the case in response to the 2005 New Times article about the doctor.
Earlier, staffers for the board found Franzetti had caused "actual harm" to Cervantes and recommended a letter of reprimand.
But at a June 7 hearing, Franzetti denied any wrongdoing and spun a radically different story about the events of May 2002.
The doctor previously insisted he had spent time with Cervantes on the morning of the suicide.
Now, he swore he had spoken to Cervantes the day before the suicide and that it was an accident that he "documented [the meeting] and failed to say it was a late entry on the 14th when I had a chance to regroup and chart."
Franzetti conceded under questioning by board member Dr. Patrick Connell that the Cervantes file was the only one he had updated from the previous day.
Connell, an emergency room physician, asked Franzetti whether it was strange "that you suddenly had the urge to complete a record of a visit that occurred the day before [and] ends up being somewhat self-serving?"
"I don't find that strange at all," the shrink replied.
Connell wondered aloud whether Franzetti's superiors had come to him immediately after the suicide "and said, 'You'd better get a note on the chart.'"
Orthopedic surgeon William Martin III was equally direct, telling the doctor, "I find your testimony not credible . . . You've given me nothing other than your word that [the chart entry] happened at that time, which is frankly not good enough for me."
Another doctor, radiologist Tim Hunter, chimed in, "I've got a feeling that this patient was kind of left in the lurch."
The board first voted 12-0 to find Franzetti guilty of unprofessional conduct for his "poor record-keeping." To at least some of the panelists, that was akin to convicting a murderer for littering.
Dr. Connell moved for a finding that Franzetti's conduct had been "dangerous to the health of the patient or the public."
But Sharon Megdal, a civilian board member from Tucson, said she did not believe that Joe Franzetti was lying about his late entry in the inmate's medical file. Neither did Dona Pardo, a board member and registered nurse.
Eventually, the "actual harm" motion — which would have deeply tarnished Franzetti's record — failed by a 6-4 vote, with two board members abstaining.
Dr. Connell suggested that at least an "advisory letter" be placed in Franzetti's file "for failing to appropriately document a late entry into the chart."
Dr. Martin said he couldn't vote for that because he was convinced that Franzetti had lied about the circumstances of the alleged "late entry" in the Cervantes file.
Connell eventually agreed with Martin and voted against his own motion, which still passed 9-3.
Dr. Franzetti wrote a brief response after the tepid conclusion to the Arizona Medical Board's case.
He said the "late entry" was a "minor cognitive oversight and had no impact on the patient's care."
Joseph Franzetti was immersed in another civil case as he evaded sanctions from the Arizona Medical Board.
The Michael Thompson case hadn't gotten media attention like the Cervantes case. But the facts about Thompson's March 2004 suicide at the Madison Street Jail were equally disturbing.
Thompson was a seriously mentally ill man who had been in and out of jails and mental institutions for much of his adult life.
He was a "management problem" — extremely difficult for staffers to control, even in the carefully monitored psych unit.
Thompson had expressed suicidal thoughts soon after he was booked into the county jail in January 2004.
Two months after that, he put a towel around his neck one day in his cell and told medical staff he wanted to jump off his bunk and kill himself.
Shortly after that, Dr. Franzetti took Mike Thompson off a Level One (the highest) suicide watch and ordered him placed alone in a cell.
That same day, May 23, 2004, a counselor noted that Thompson was "acting out" in the cell and again was threatening to hurt himself.
About 10 p.m., Thompson ripped apart his bed sheet, tied one end around his neck and the other around the bed frame and slid down to his death.
Franzetti never conducted a risk assessment on his acutely suicidal patient, nor had he communicated in any fashion with him.
Thompson's survivors sued. Again, Dr. Steven Pitt was hired by the plaintiffs to give his opinion.
An attorney representing Dr. Franzetti and Maricopa County deposed Dr. Pitt in late July 2007.
The deposition coincidentally took place just weeks after Pitt's fellow psychiatrist, Jack Potts, had written his scathing (but ignored) letter about Franzetti to the county's Juvenile Court.
"Dr. Franzetti's work is just woefully inadequate," Pitt testified this time.
"His work is incomplete. It's devoid of just the basic tenets that go with conducting a psychiatric evaluation."
Pitt told Franzetti's attorney that "the whole story is just very, very sad in terms of people not treating another human being the way they should have been treated. This was 2004. We're not back in the days of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. This is not how you treat mentally ill people in an institutional setting."
The psychiatrist concluded that Franzetti's "lack of desire to treat this man resulted in his death. End of story."
A few months after that deposition, Maricopa County agreed to pay Michael Thompson's survivors $450,000.
Last March, Tucson attorney Jojene Mills asked Dr. Franzetti in another civil deposition about the Thompson lawsuit.
Astonishingly, he said he didn't recall the suit and told Mills, "I have never talked to anybody or seen anything [about it]."
For someone in another line of work, an equivalent series of missteps may have necessitated a change of profession.
But that's not the way it has played out for Joe Franzetti.
He worked until earlier this year as a clinician for Magellan Health Services, a company that provides the bulk of mental-health and substance abuse services for Maricopa County.
Franzetti also became medical director of Youth Evaluation and Treatment Centers, and was hired to do part-time restoration/evaluation work at Rio Salado Behavioral Health Systems.
But Dr. Franzetti's most improbable new gig was his lucrative adult and juvenile contracts as a Rule 11 mental-health evaluator for Maricopa County.
New Times was preparing a story on Franzetti's financial bonanza and his fraudulent Rule 11 reports when a new issue arose earlier this month.
That was when an August 25 incident at the Estrella Jail came to light in which Franzetti allegedly acted inappropriately — an understatement, if true — with female inmate Kelley McNaughton.
McNaughton, a 29-year-old facing prison time on theft and other charges, told several people about it, including her attorney, her mother, a jail psychiatrist, and fellow inmates.
She has claimed that Franzetti flirted with her for almost three hours after conducting his usual brief her Rule 11 evaluation in a jail visitation area.
McNaughton alleged that the flirtation became physical when the doctor rubbed up and down the inside of her leg with his knee under the examination table as they sat across from each other.
On Monday, August 29, New Times interviewed McNaughton at the jail and in the presence of her attorney.
McNaughton said she "mostly enjoyed" Franzetti's attentions when it was happening but came to her senses immediately afterward.
She said she tried within an hour to contact her attorney, Amy Nguyen, but failed. Nguyen confirms this.
Then McNaughton phoned her mother in California, who e-mailed Nguyen about 9 p.m. to recount that afternoon's alleged events.
Nguyen tells New Times that sheriff's detectives had started to investigate McNaughton's allegations at the same time the paper got wind of the situation.
The inmate was handcuffed during the hour-long interview with the paper and was wearing standard-issue black-and-white jail stripes and sandals.
She had taken pains to apply "makeup" to her eyes beforehand, using a colored blue pencil in place of mascara.
McNaughton is a pretty woman of Irish descent, with strong, angular features. She's bright, street smart, and highly verbal.
But years of intravenous drug abuse and living with biker gangs have left her rough around the edges, inside and out.
McNaughton says she never had heard of Dr. Franzetti before her interview with him. The evaluation occurred after her attorney raised concerns about her possible incompetence to stand trial because of mental-health issues.
"He did a real quick interview with me, asked me a couple of questions, then put his pen down and asked me, 'Who do you look like? Lindsay Lohan, Courtney Cox?' He told me I was a very pretty girl.
"It went from there. He talked about flying me to New Mexico when I get out, taking a motorcycle trip on his BMW or Harley. He guessed I was Irish, and said we could go to Europe, to Ireland. He showed me his fake Rolex and said he'd gotten it in Mexico, where he went to school."
McNaughton says Franzetti wasn't wearing a wedding ring but admitted he was married — unhappily, according to her account.
"I was flattered by his attention," she says. "He's a good-looking guy. He said he never stays at Rule 11's for more than 15 minutes, but there was some kind of magnetism and he didn't want to leave."
McNaughton claims that the doctor's knee first brushed up against hers under the table, and he kept it there for a while before moving it up past her knee near her private parts:
"He was scooted way down in the seat, and he put his knee up between me closer and closer and closer. He asked me if it was okay. I kind of nodded yes. I squeezed his knee at one point. I'm thinking, 'Here's this doctor with all this money, and he likes me!' I had just gotten my haircut, and I was looking pretty fly. We hit it off."
McNaughton says Franzetti gave her tips on how to show the second Rule 11 evaluator, Dr. Bruce Kushner, that she was legally competent:
"He told that the next doc was an old idiot, but to make sure that I explained to him what rights I do have because if I'm held 'incompetent' then I'd be stuck in the jail forever with no credit for time as they made me 'competent.'"
McNaughton says, as the unusual meeting passed about two hours, she asked Franzetti whether he would write to her in jail.
"He said that might be unethical," she recalls. "I said, 'And what we did under the table wasn't unethical?' He said, 'I guess so.'"
When the doctor stood up to leave and walked to the door, she says, "he was like a high-schooler. He just stood there and stared at me, kind of shuffled around a little."
A guard returned McNaughton to her pod, where she says another inmate told her, "You are glowing, sister. Where you been? Someone give you a nut out there during visitation?"
But the glow apparently soon wore off.
McNaughton says she had "kind of a panic attack" as she took a shower shortly after her encounter with Franzetti.
"I broke down," she says. "It was, 'What did I just do?'"
McNaughton soon gabbed about it with fellow inmates and says two women "told me to extort his ass." But her cellmate advised her to contact her attorney, which she did.
McNaughton says she is torn about what to think about the episode.
"What if he really did like me, and here I am ratting him out?" she asks.
Several days after the New Times interview, defense attorney Nguyen obtained a copy of a videotape made by jail officials during Franzetti's August 25 visit.
The tape shows a panoramic view of the visitation room, from minutes before Kelley McNaughton's arrival until after Dr. Franzetti leaves.
Though the tape does not provide absolute proof that the doctor played "kneesie" beneath the interview table, it does confirm key aspects of McNaughton's account.
Franzetti walks into the room at 1:52 p.m., wearing khakis and a black shirt not tucked in. At 2:04, another female inmate sits down across from him for her Rule 11 exam. He's completes it 16 minutes later at 2:20.
McNaughton comes in at 2:38 and takes her seat.
Franzetti seems to be writing in a notebook on and off for about 20 minutes. But at 3 p.m., he shuts his notebook and doesn't appear to write another word until he leaves two hours later.
About 3:15, McNaughton seems to be nervously looking around the room. She and the doctor seem to be fully engaged in banter.
If you didn't know she was a handcuffed prisoner and he was a forensic shrink on the job, it might appear that they were at a tavern.
At 3:37 p.m., McNaughton squirms her whole body to the left and moves back to face the doctor, who is doing most of the talking.
About 4, Franzetti, who is about 6-foot-4, seems to slouch way down in his seat.
The two continue to appear to be enjoying each other's company.
The on-duty corrections officer remains about 50 feet away, his view blocked by a concrete girder unless he occasionally moves around the room (though he properly continues to give some space to the psychiatrist and his subject.)
Just before 5 p.m., Franzetti finally gathers his papers. He stands up and walks a few feet to the door. He pushes the buzzer that alerts someone to unlock it and allow him to leave.
But the door doesn't open for more than a minute. Franzetti turns around and, as McNaughton recounted in her interview with New Times, he stands there and stares at her wordlessly for several seconds.
McNaughton stares back.
Last week, Drs. Franzetti and Kushner ("the old idiot") filed their Rule 11 reports on Kelley McNaughton with Superior Court.
Kushner's was several pages long and thoroughly documented.
Franzetti's was typically meager, a few pages with little in the way of facts or substantiation.
Both reports concluded that McNaughton is competent to stand trial.
The taxpayer cost for each report: $300.
Joseph Franzetti said nothing in his report about any flirtatious or otherwise inappropriate behavior by McNaughton.