His phone rang.
“This is Morris.”
“Good morning, Morris,” responded the unusually friendly voice of Mike McKensey. “I’m just calling to let you know that based on evidence found in his home and on his computer, the DA has charged Mark Johansen with the murders of Ashima James and Julia Lewis.”
“Thanks, Mike. This wasn’t totally unexpected. I already have the framework for the story.”
“Will George be okay missing out on this?”
“George will be fine. While he’s away, I’m bylining the stories as ‘Morris Levinberg for George Gray’. Obviously we’ll keep the story in the news during his absence, but I suspect the real meat will come after he gets back.”
“God! Tahiti. A cop can only dream.”
“You should take some time off and go. It’s worth it.”
“Yeah, right! The chances that two cops can both get extended time off for something like that are pretty slim.”
“I’m sure the departments can spare you both.”
“Yeah. That will happen when murders stop in the City.”
“So Mike. Off the record. Did Johansen do it?”
“Off the record, right? Well, we’ve done some interrogations. Granted, his attorney was present so we’re somewhat limited in how aggressive we can be. But like I suggested before, either this guy is one of the best actors I’ve ever seen, or he really doesn’t remember doing it. Interestingly, he won’t say he didn’t do it, he just says he can’t remember. I guess that’s a good basis for an insanity plea given his history, but I’ll tell you, my gut says we’ve got the wrong guy. But of course, it’s about the evidence and right now, I think the DA has a solid case for guilty. As to insanity, who knows?”
Morris thought about the some of the ‘aggressive’ interrogations he’d witnessed. Without lawyers present, the cops could lie, claiming evidence they didn’t really have. They could promise clemency for a confession, using good cop, bad cop pressures that bordered on verbal abuse. And the interrogations could go on for hours. On one case, he’d witnessed the interrogation of a young immigrant accused of rape of his own daughter. The man was shackled to his chair for the duration of the ten-hour interview. The cops claimed they had DNA proving his guilt. They told him he could go home to his family if he just confessed. They lied and cajoled. Good cops used gentle Spanish while the bad cops berated the accused in rapid-fire English. Somehow, the man maintained his innocence. Morris knew that if he had been arrested, had passed an entire night without sleep, then been subjected to ten hours of non-stop interrogation, he would have confessed to anything. It was certain that cops were good at interrogations – much better than anything you could see on TV.
“And you say the lawyer is good?”
“It’s Sharon Katell.”
Morris had reported on several of Sharon Katell’s cases. If he were accused of murder, Sharon Katell would have been his first choice for a lawyer.
“Without a doubt she’s one of the best,” Morris affirmed. What do you think her chances are?”
“I never predict what courts and juries will do. I suspect the insanity plea will stand up. But for now, not-guilty looks unlikely given the evidence. She’s pressed me hard to look for other suspects, but the department isn’t going to give me any official time for that, given what we have on Johansen. And that’s what I told her. But just between us, I’m doing my best to look elsewhere. I’m looking forward to George’s return so he and that brilliant wife of his can help me out.”
“They’ll be back in a week so hopefully nothing radical will happen in the meantime. But if you do need my help with anything, let me know.”
“Well, since you suggested it, could you talk to Sharon Katell? Let her know that unofficially, I am looking for other suspects. And if she has anything she want to pass on, any leads, maybe you could act as a go-between.”
“Mike, I can’t commit to working for you like this, but I’ll do what I can, and I’ll encourage George to pick up wherever I leave off.”
They said their goodbyes and Morris fired off an email to George letting him know that Mark Johansen had been charged with the other murders and that Mike was looking for more suspects. Then he gave Sharon Katell a call.
7
Sharon Katell stopped at the bakery below Samantha Louis’ office and bought a couple of pastries – religieuses – each with three stacked snowman-like cream-puff balls topped in dark chocolate and decorated with white Chantilly cream to make them look like nuns.
She hoped that food would help break what she assumed would be some very thick ice. In the course of her career, Sharon had tried to interview many psychiatrists. Even when presented with the patient release, the shrinks were reluctant to talk about their patients, let alone the treatments they were undergoing. Hopefully Samantha Louis would be different.
She climbed the stairs to Samantha Louis’ office and entered a surprisingly cozy waiting room. Before she could take a seat, the door to the psychiatrist’s private office opened and Samantha Louis greeted her guest warmly.
“Sharon, right? I see you’ve succumbed to the treats of our local French bakery downstairs.”
“I couldn’t resist. Plus, I thought these beautiful religieuses might be an ice breaker.”
Samantha looked amused. “I’m Sam. Come on in.”
And motioning to what appeared to be a comfortable over-stuffed sofa, she suggested that Sharon take a seat. “I’ve got coffee, iced tea and a few juices to go with those pastries.”
“Ah coffee, please. I must admit to living on its boost when I’m on a case.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Just black please. I don’t want to dilute the caffeine.”
Sam smiled, filled a porcelain mug shaped like a high-top button shoe with coffee and placed it on a small ornate tray, added two plates, cloth napkins, and her own fruit juice, then made her way over to Sharon. She placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa and took a seat on the edge of the rocking recliner facing Sharon.
Doing her part, Sharon removed the pastries from the box and placed one on a plate which she handed to Sam before placing one on her own plate. She took a bite of the religieuse, wiped a smear of chocolate and Chantilly off her face, took a sip of coffee and sighed.
“That is exceptional. I haven’t had a religieuse since my last trip to France.”
“Do you go often?”
“As strange as it sounds, I’m sort of semi-retired. I manage several law offices, but have a great team that can offload most of the work. That way I can spend a few months a year in France. It’s the one place in the world where I actually feel comfortable. I like the people, the politics, the language, and of course, the food.”
Sam smiled. “I did a month abroad in France during high school and though I’ve promised myself to go back, I haven’t found the time. I appreciated the sense of culture there.”
“That’s exactly it. It’s not just the history, which is, in itself, interesting. It’s this general respect for art, philosophy, literature, and all things that people create, even technology. Somehow, the French don’t seem to have lost their souls to the frenetic pace of our American world. They seem to have a better life balance and they respect ideas. Not just their own, but any idea that might be interesting. One day, I might retire there – if I could ever really give up the law.”
“So if you’re semi-retired, how is it you’re representing Mark?”
“Mark and I go back a long way. We were best friends for years but then with careers and his marriage, we kind of lost touch for a while. Actually we didn’t really lose touch. We followed each other on social media, but haven’t seen each other in probably at least fifteen years.
“But I know Mark. Or at least I knew Mark, probably better than anyone. And the Mark I knew could never have killed anyone, let alone three people.”
Seeing that Sam had finished her pastry, Sharon reached into her briefcase and pulled ou
t the Patient Release which she handed to Sam.
“I know you’re reluctant to talk about patient information – “
Sam raised a hand to stop Sharon, carefully read the release, stood up and placed it on her desk, then returned to her chair.
“Actually, I’m more than happy to tell you everything I know about Mark Johansen. I only have an hour until my next appointment, so if we don’t get through everything you need today, we can pick up our conversation again later. And if you knew Mark when he was younger, perhaps you can enlighten me a bit about his past. This is a bit irregular. I don’t usually get involved with friends and family except in rare circumstances, but if there ever was one, I suspect this is an exceptional case.”
“Great! So can you tell me about Mark’s condition.”
“Sure. Mark suffers from late-onset schizophrenia. Normally we see the onset of schizophrenia when patients are in their late teens or twenties. Most psychiatrists believe that schizophrenia is genetic and that there is no cure, just management through drugs and therapy. These therapies revolve around teaching the patient to recognize that what they think, and even what they think they see or hear, is not necessarily real.
“Late onset schizophrenia is somewhat rare. It tends to be more easily manageable, in my opinion, because older adults have a better ability to recognize when things don’t make sense.
“With Mark, we took that approach. We used drugs to quiet his hallucinations, then used Cognitive Based Therapy – CBT, to teach him to manage his delusions and hallucinations. That went very well and he was able to return to work and he seemed to be fully productive.”
“You said ‘seemed’,” Sharon queried, intrigued. “Is that past tense or was it not real?”
“No. It was real. I meant it in the past tense.”
Sam took a deep breath and then continued.
“Okay. This is a bit rough, but Mark and I spoke about the fact that some recent research has shown that in a not-insignificant number of late-onset cases, cures are possible. There are several avant-garde psychiatrists who’ve had great success searching for non-physical, non-genetic causes, and they’ve found that trauma is a possible cause.
“Based on some of our therapy sessions, I suspect that Mark suffered damaging trauma as a child. We decided that although the new therapy would be rough on Mark, if there was a chance for a cure, we should pursue it.”
“You say ‘we’. Is that you and Mark?”
“Absolutely. I couldn’t do this without Mark being fully on board. He knew it would be hard and that he might be taking a few steps backward, but if you know Mark, you know he’ll do whatever it takes to succeed, and right now, success means a cure.
“I’ve also consulted with my mentor, and with two trauma specialists and they’re reviewing each step we take.”
“Thanks Sam. That helps. Mark tried to explain much of this to me, but right now, I think he’s a bit confused and his explanation reflected that.
“At this point, Mark doesn’t know if he’s guilty or not. Unfortunately, all the evidence points to guilt, not only for the murder of his wife, but also for the murders of Ashima James and Julia Lewis. He says he’s been having memory lapses so he can’t rule out the possibility that he’s guilty.”
“Yeah. We discussed the memory lapses. Quite frankly, I’m not sure that he’s actually having them. It’s not a side effect from the drugs he’s taking, and while it is common for schizophrenics to have memory loss, from the cognitive testing I’ve done on Mark, I just haven’t seen it.
“Honestly, I don’t think Mark is guilty. I just don’t see murder as something Mark could do.”
Sam hesitated. Thinking back to some of the violent patients she’d worked with, who outwardly seemed so normal, Sam knew she could be wrong on that count. Then again, none of those patients were schizophrenic, and schizophrenics were rarely violent in spite of their reputations to the contrary.
Seeing Sam apparently lost in thought, Sharon jumped in. “Mark and I go way back. I think I know – knew Mark better than anyone. I don’t think he could have done this either. But the DA has the evidence and quite frankly, I can’t even come up with another theory.
“The good news, if there is any, is that the lead detective on the case, a Mike McKensey, has a gut feel that something is wrong here – it’s just too pat, and Mark doesn’t fit what he thinks of as the profile of the killer.
“I hope he’s right and I’m hoping that we can find some leads to the real killer.
“In the meantime, Mark is in jail. Because of his mental health history, they’re allowing limited treatment. So far, they’re permitting his medications –“
“Yeah. I got a call and confirmed his meds.”
“And, they have some mental health professionals available. I’ve asked the court to grant you visits – if you’re willing – to do some basic treatment. I don’t know if you’ll be able to continue your new therapy at this point, especially in the jail, but I suspect that meeting with Mark regularly would help him see things a bit more clearly. As I said, he thinks he might have done this. I need him to believe otherwise. And of course, we’ll pay your fees.”
“That’s not an issue for me. I’ll talk with Dr. Karmere – my mentor at Community. I know he’s done quite of bit of work with prisoners with mental illnesses. He probably knows the staff over there and can help smooth thing along with my visits. I’ll let you know how it’s going.”
Sam paused a moment before continuing. “You said you knew Mark years ago. When did you meet?”
“Mark started at my high school during the middle of tenth grade. He fit into our so-called intellectual crowd very easily, but was also good at sports. He was what used to be called a renaissance man – boy, ah. Anyway, we became absolute best friends.”
“And did your relationship go beyond friendship?”
“We had a brief fling in college, but recognized quickly that neither of us was looking for a committed romantic relationship. We had a world to change. So we both agreed that continuing a romance could be dangerous for our friendship.”
“That sounds like a very adult decision.”
“Maybe, maybe not. As I think back on it, we were a pretty good fit. Our interests overlapped. After all these years, I’ve come to believe that a lasting relationship is based on a truly solid friendship and common interests. But I don’t think we need to dwell on that right now.”
“So, did you meet Mark’s family? My therapy is digging into that, but so far, I’m not learning much.”
“Yes. I often spent time at Mark’s house. His dad was retired military and had just taken a job with Lockheed. God, I think about it now. He was in his early forties. I’m older than that. Anyway, my impression was that his dad was a pretty nice guy. I know he was absent a lot during Mark’s childhood. He worked in military intelligence in some interesting places. But from what Mark told me, his dad was always supportive and encouraging and when he was around, they had fun together.”
“And his mother?”
Sharon paused before answering. “Well, I never got to know her. Mark never talked about her and the few times I had dinner at their house, Mark’s father seemed to be an almost bigger-than-life character. He made jokes and always had funny stories. I liked him a lot.
“But his mother? For me, I just couldn’t imagine her with Mark’s dad. They certainly didn’t seem to be much of a couple.”
“And how would you describe her?
“I guess if I were to use one word, it would be dark. She seemed reserved and maybe, a bit angry. I mean she didn’t show her temper, never screamed or got violent, but it was like there was a seething anger under the surface.
“You know, Mark left home right after graduation and as far as I know, he never returned, except for his father’s funeral during freshman year. I went with him. It was rough. But the thing that stands out for me as I think back about it is that Mark’s mother was as cold as ice towards Mark and as we were
leaving, Mark’s mother told him that it was his fault.”
“Did you guys talk about it afterwards?”
“No. Aside from telling me about activities he’d shared with his dad, Mark never talked about his family.”
“Thanks Sharon. That fills in a few holes for me.”
Sam glanced at her watch and Sharon stood up.
“You’ve really helped me too. Let’s touch base after you talk to Mark.”
Sam walked Sharon to the door and gave her a hug.
“I sure hope you can get Mark out of this.”
“It’s going to be a team effort. And on that note, there’s one more thing. We appear to have an ally in Detective Mike McKensey. I know you’re bound by confidentiality, but if he calls, and I’m pretty sure he will, try to help wherever you can. He may see something we don’t.”
“I’ll do my best”
8
Mike McKensey gazed with wonder at May, his wife of just three years. Nearing fifty, she had the body of a twenty-year old athlete. Well, in fact, while not twenty, she certainly was an athlete. At times, having May for a wife was tough for Mike, who always considered himself to be in great shape. But most of the time, Mike couldn’t keep up with May.
They’d met on a serial murder case. She was a detective with the Marin County Sheriff’s department and a number of bodies had washed up on Bay Area beaches, some in Marin, some in San Francisco. They worked together well, chasing some promising leads that ultimately never panned out. It appeared the killer was a woman. Following a lead in the Tenderloin, the SFPD had almost caught her, but then she disappeared and the murders stopped altogether. Since then nothing new. For both of them, it was the most unsatisfying case they’d ever worked on. And truth be known, they continued to work on it in their spare time – what little there was of that for two homicide detectives.
The Misogynist Page 16