As he walked away, Mike wondered about Brittany Spangler. Although they had a lead via the emails that George Gray had received, they’d still checked into the whereabouts and backgrounds of the people closest to Ashima James.
Brittany had a pretty extensive sheet which included umerous arrests for assault, property damage, drug possession, and harassment, as well as quite a few hospitalizations. From what he could understand, she’d been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. He didn’t know a lot about psychological disorders, but this one appeared to be one of the worst. Brittany was also highly educated and very intelligent. And according to those he’d talked to about her record, she could be quite devious, often using charm and vulnerability to divert attention from issues at hand. Although not at the top of their list, Brittany was certainly a suspect.
Mike stopped at Bob Simpson’s desk.
“How do you want to play this?” Bob asked.
“I think we need to update her on where we are, tell her about the lead, and see how she reacts. Then we can push her on why she lied to us. Hopefully, she won’t get violent.”
Five minutes later Brittany, Bob, and Mike were seated in a conference room with a view towards the Bay. Mike and Bob sipped from their mugs of coffee while Brittany took great gulps from the bottle of water that Mike had brought her.
“I’m sorry about my behavior at reception,” Brittany began. “But it’s really frustrating. My mom is dead. Murdered. And you haven’t caught the killer. Do you have any leads?”
“First Ms. Spangler, we need you to understand that investigations of this sort are very sensitive.”
Seeing her about to react, Mike raised his hand. “What I mean by that is that information about the investigation that gets into the wrong hands can help the suspect and make our job more difficult.
“In general while we try to keep family members up to date, we don’t give too much detail. It could put the investigation at risk. Plus, as you probably know from movies and books, most often, the killer is a member of the family.”
Brittany’s eyes went wide with shock. “You don’t think that one of our family did this do you?” Then with sudden understanding, “You don’t think that I killed my mom, do you?”
“At this point, we haven’t ruled anyone out. But we do have a question. Why did you lie to us about your whereabouts at the time of your Mother’s death?”
Brittany looked stunned. “Ah - ” she began. Then she looked down at her hands, clearly deciding what she wanted to say. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“We can’t advise you against getting a lawyer. However, at this point, we don’t think you’re a strong suspect. We’re just trying to gather all the facts and part of our process is to look for inconsistencies. Can you tell us why you said you were in Washington when in fact you were in San Francisco?’
Brittany thought carefully. It almost looked like she was having a silent argument with herself. Mike and Bob weren’t sure whether she would get angry, get up and walk away, or respond to the question.
After a long silence, her agitation calmed. She looked directly at Mike and responded, “I can see how this looks. The truth is, I wasn’t supposed to be here. My mom and the rest of our family thought I was in DC. But I met this guy on the Internet and he invited me out here. I didn’t want anyone to know because of what happened before. I got into trouble once in a similar situation and had promised not to do this again. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I didn’t kill my mom. I loved her. She gave up everything for me.”
And Brittany began to cry softly.
Bob walked over to a nearby credenza, opened it and removed a box of tissues which he handed to Brittany.
“Ms. Spangler,” Bob began, sympathetically, “Is there anything more you want to tell us about your relationship with your Mother or that might have come to mind since we last met? Can you think of anyone who’d want to harm your Mother?”
Brittany thought carefully. “No. I’ve racked my brain and I can’t think of anyone who’d want to harm her. She taught little kids, was active in her church and women’s groups, and took dance classes. I really don’t see who could have had anything against her.”
She paused suddenly. “Unless it has something to do with Michael – my former stepfather was Michael James. He – ah – he killed himself. It was my fault, but I think people blame my mom. She left him because I asked her to and he killed himself because he lost his family and because I damaged his reputation. Oh God! If someone took revenge on my mom because of Michael, then it’s my fault. I killed my mom!
And she burst into tears again; this time unable to hold back deep sobs. Bob got up to get her another bottle of water and when he returned, they waited for Brittany’s tears to pass.
She wiped her eyes, blew her nose and sipped some water. She sat up straight, smoothed her clothes, and apologized, “I’m sorry. It just hit me. I seem to screw up so many things these days. I don’t want to be the one responsible for my mom’s death. Can we start over? Can you tell me about the investigation?”
Mike looked at Bob who nodded. “Ms. Spangler, can you agree to keep what we tell you confidential? This means you don’t tell family or friends, no postings on social media, no contacting the press. As I mentioned, leaking this information could jeopardize our investigation.”
“Yes. I promise to keep what you tell me to myself. But I really want to know.”
“Okay. We have a good lead. A person claiming responsibility contacted a member of the press via email and said that she or he had killed your Mother because of what she had done to Michael James. So your idea may have been correct.”
“Was it George Gray? The reporter, I mean?”
This time it was Mike and Bob who were surprised.
“How do you know George Gray?”
“I met him when he was doing a story on Michael’s death. It seemed logical that if Michael was the reason, the killer would contact George.”
“We can’t confirm that, but I can assure you that we are in contact with the reporter and our best cybercrime investigators are tracking emails,” Mike responded, kicking himself for revealing more than he wanted to.
“Emails, plural?”
“We really can’t tell you more at this point. We will do our best to keep you up to date. You have our cards. If you have questions, or ideas, don’t hesitate to contact us by phone or email. And please, if you do come back, be nicer to Melissa. She holds this place together.”
“I promise. I am sorry. Sometimes I don’t control myself very well.”
Mike and Bob walked Brittany out and when the door had closed, Bob asked, “What do you think? Did we just hear a confession?”
“I’m not sure about the confession, but what we saw was probably a very good act. From my research on Borderline Personality Disorder, most don’t feel guilty or sorry about anything. We need to keep an eye on her. And I need to give George Gray a call to let him know who’s coming to visit.”
Chapter 2
“More than 150 years after Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, slavery is illegal almost everywhere. But it is still not abolished - not even here, in the land of the free. On the contrary, there is a cancer of violence, a modern-day slavery growing in America by the day, in the very places where we live and work. It's called human trafficking.”
- Josh Hawley
1
George picked up his ringing desk phone knowing what was coming. It had only been fifteen minutes since he’d gotten off the call with Mike McKensey. He was sure Brittany Spangler was here to see him. He’d decided not to duck.
“Hi Mr. Gray. There’s a Brittany Spangler here to see you. She says she doesn’t have an appointment but claims that you’d certainly like to speak to her. The Golden Gate conference room is available if you need it.”
“Thanks Joyce. I’ll be right out.”
George took a few minutes to review his notes. Mike McKensey had done a lot of work for him by summarizing Brit
tany’s life over the past year. She’d been unable to hold a job, had been arrested and hospitalized several times, and had been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder.
This sounded like a far cry from the young woman he’d met when he’d investigated the Michael James story. That Brittany seemed to have her life all planned out. She was intelligent, attractive, and already moving forward with a mission to end child slavery and violence against women in Haiti. What had happened? Then again, he probably knew what had happened. Brittany had finally realized that she’d destroyed Michael James and was now overcome with remorse.
But as he approached reception, he was surprised. This was not the out-of-control woman that McKensey had described. Brittany looked calm and confident. Very much the same young woman he’d met before.
Seeing him approach, Brittany stood up held out her right hand and smiled. “Mr. Gray, it’s great to see you again!”
George took her hand and noticed her cool firm grip. “Ms. Spangler, good to see you too. And please call me George.”
“And of course, you should call me Brittany.”
As he led her to the conference room, George asked, “Can I get you anything? Coffee, a soda, water?”
“No thanks. I’m good.”
Brittany took a seat at the end of the table and George sat to her right.
“Now, what can I do for you Brittany?”
“I understand you’ve been contacted by my mother’s killer. I’d like to help find out who did it. My mother and I were in constant contact; I knew most of her friends and I have a lot of time on my hands right now so I can chase any leads you have. I’m also pretty good with computers and networking so I might be able to help chase down the person who emailed you.”
George decided not to act surprised that Brittany knew he’d been contacted by the killer. She was smart enough to know that Mike McKensey would have called him after their conversation.
“Well, first, why don’t you catch me up a bit on what’s been going on with you since we last met. Weren’t you working against child slavery in Haiti? Are you still associated with the same group?”
Brittany looked at George sincerely.
“Actually, no. It’s been a rough year for me. I think I’ve been struggling to come to terms with the fact that I caused Michael’s death. I was in denial for a long time. I felt neglected by my mom, so I pushed her to leave him, exaggerating things that happened between me and him. Looking back at it now, I find it hard to believe that I hated him only a year ago. I realize that I loved him more than my biological father for many years and I’m not sure why I turned so completely against him so suddenly. He begged my mom for family counseling but I refused and told her that if she went, I’d never speak to her again. At some point, family and friends began to see through my claims and my world came crashing down. To be quite frank, I’ve been unstable since, getting into trouble and having psychological problems which haven’t been resolved.”
“Aren’t you living in Washington?
“I was. The NGO I was working for there fired me right before my mom was killed. I was actually here in the City that day. I’d come to visit someone I met on Facebook. That didn’t work out – I should have known better. And then with my mom, I completely lost it. As I’ve learned, people with my condition don’t do well with sudden upheavals in their lives. I was hospitalized for a few days. The good news is that I met a fantastic psychiatrist. I’ve been through so many over the years, and especially this year, but Sam is different. She really seems to understand what’s wrong with me and has introduced me to a therapy I’d never heard of before. It’s called Schema Focused Therapy. Do you know anything about it?”
“Ah, no, I don’t. Sam is a she?”
“Yes. Samantha Louis. She splits her time between inpatient work at San Francisco Community and her own private practice. And her office is right above an amazing bakery in the Haight.
“Anyway, Sam is helping me reframe how I act and how I see myself and what has happened to me in the past. I really feel like she’s helping me actually change for the better. Part of that is finding something that is important to me and going after it. In the past, I did a lot of things, tried a lot of things, but never could stick with anything – I just got bored. I’m hoping that if I can help with the investigation, I’ll have a purpose. I’ve moved into my mom’s house in Pacific Heights. The damage was repaired pretty quickly. My sister Francine has agreed that I can stay there for the foreseeable future. As her big sister, I convinced her that I could stay on top of the investigation so that she could continue her life.”
George looked at Brittany who smiled back at him expectantly. This was definitely not the woman that Mike McKensey had described. So what was going on? Was she just a great actress? Was this part of her condition? His earlier quick Internet search on Borderline Personality Disorder described one of the symptoms as radical changes in moods. And even radical changes in feelings about people. It also warned those dealing with people who suffered from the Disorder to choose their words carefully. These people were experts at seeking negative meaning in the most innocuous statements, then turning against the person who spoke.
Where should he go with this? He didn’t need the help. Janey could work on the computer side if he needed resources beyond Miguel, head if IT here at the Sentinel. And quite frankly, he didn’t trust Brittany even if she did claim good intentions. He decided to punt.
“Brittany, at this point, I’m not sure how we could use you. While we often call on outside sources for information, the Sentinel doesn’t usually let us use outside people for investigation.” Then taking two business cards from his notebook, George continued. “Here’s my card. If you write your number on the second one, I promise I’ll call you tomorrow. I need to talk to some people here to see if there’s any way to make this work.”
Brittany studied George’s face trying to discern whether this was a stalling tactic, a way to get rid of her, or if he was being honest. His open smile didn’t reveal any ulterior motives so Brittany smiled in return, scribbled her phone number on the back of one of the cards, and stood up.
“Thanks for listening to me. I hope we can meet again and that you can tell me more about your progress in finding my mom’s killer.
George walked her to the reception area, shook her hand warmly and they parted ways.
Back in his office, George wrote up a quick email summarizing his conversation with Brittany and sent it to Morris and Mike McKensey.
2
Brittany returned home. The repairs were almost complete. Francine had initiated the work while Brittany was in Community Hospital. By the time she was out of the hospital, they’d replaced the windows, framed and replaced the front door, and installed new flooring in the entry way. A week later, the sheetrock was done and it only needed paint and decorations to be back to normal, or at least the new normal.
She really loved her mom’s house, especially the upstairs with its views of the City. She’d envied her mom. After Michael’s death, her mom had gone through a rough patch, but she certainly came out of it quickly. Then when Michael’s money came to her, she moved on without looking back and had built an idyllic life in San Francisco.
Sure Brittany had asked her to leave Michael. But Brittany now realized that she had been unreasonable. Yes, she was jealous of her mom’s relationship with Michael. And yes, she had demanded that her mom leave Michael. But once Michael died, shouldn’t her mom have suffered more? Brittany certainly did. But her mom just moved on, happy in her new life while Brittany endured an endless Hell built on guilt.
Yes. Ashima James was a piece of work. Brittany realized that now. Her mom had stolen Brittany’s biological father from her own best friend, seducing him after the couple had a fight. Then, years later when her new best friend bragged about her amazing entrepreneurial husband, her mom went after him too, capitalizing on rough spots in Michael’s former marriage. And when Michael had assured his fortune, she
decided to divorce him on Brittany’s claims, guaranteeing herself an even better future.
Looking back at her childhood, Brittany knew that her mom was largely absent. It was Michael who took her and Francine to school. Michael who helped them with their homework, went to parent-teacher conferences. Michael who took them to after-school activities. Michael who took them to doctors’ appointments, to friends’ houses for parties or sleepovers and Michael who did almost everything around the house. Ashima James had her career. She didn’t have time for her children.
As she thought about it more, she realized that it really wasn’t long after she and Francine had left for their respective Universities that Ashima had left Michael James. She had used Michael to raise her children then dumped him when the job was done knowing she would be assured of a solid financial future after the divorce.
Michael had loved her mom unconditionally and was destroyed when the family that he had raised turned against him.
Maybe her mom got exactly what she deserved. Maybe the killer did the world a service.
And now, Brittany had this wonderful house and enough money to live on for the rest of her life.
3
Mark Johansen and Richard Hatch were celebrating Mark’s first day back to work by wolfing down pintxos at Txepetxa, the hot new tapas bar in Los Gatos.
“I can’t believe how good these tapas are,” Mark began, eyeing the Rioja on the tray of a passing waiter. “God, I wish I could split a bottle of that Rioja with you. I love Spanish wines.”
“Yeah, but this Mosto is surprisingly good. I remember drinking it in the Basque region of Spain. Who would have thought that filtered grape juice with a slice of orange and an olive would be so good.”
“It’s okay but that Rioja…”
“Mark, I know it’s hard, but as Dr. Louis explained, you really can’t mix alcohol with the antipsychotic. Like the cocaine, it will bring Janice back. She’s gone, right?”
The Misogynist Page 6