Final Analysis

by Catherine Crier

  Susan interjected. “I’m very, very, very upset.”

  “You do well at not showing it.”

  “Well, you know, I can’t defend myself against an accusation like that,” she huffed.

  “Well,” the detective shrugged, “It’s an observation that I’m making.”

  “I’m not in love with my husband anymore,” Susan offered. “But I’m horrified. Particularly for my son that he found his body…but as for tears, you know.”

  Detective Costa decided to take the questioning in another direction. “Was Felix under any professional care himself?”

  “Yes,” Susan said.

  “Was he seeing anybody?”

  “He was seeing Justin Simon,” she said, referring to the psychiatrist who owned the Berkeley complex where Felix leased office space. According to Susan, Simon also prescribed Felix with antianxiety drugs. Though she was uncertain of the precise name, she indicated that it was a “valium derivative.” Susan was quick to point out the hypocrisy of it all—that Felix pointed the finger at her for being crazy, while never considering his own pharmaceutical dependency.

  As the detective looked over his notes, he restated his theory yet again. “I’ve got to tell you, you know, something happened between you and Felix today that got out of hand.”

  “No way!” Susan insisted.

  “Well, that’s my feeling.”

  “Did not!” Susan sniped back like a child in a tiff with a fellow classmate.

  “I guess we just have to disagree, because something happened obviously. And I think it was between you and him. And you’re sitting over there, and you’re probably just dying to spill out what happened. And you can’t, for whatever reason. I don’t know, afraid of going to jail or…”

  Susan jumped in. “No!”

  “You know, we’ve had quite a few of these in this county recently, where wives have killed their husbands. One got off with manslaughter because of his past.”

  “I did not kill my husband. I’m not that kind of person…. I don’t know what kind of a crime it was. You know, I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened.”

  “Well, they call it murder,” the detective replied before rising to his feet. He informed Susan that he needed to check on the status of the crime scene investigation and exited the room, returning a few minutes later with a second detective in tow. “This is Detective Jeff Moule, my partner.”

  “How are you doing?” the second investigator said, nodding at Susan.

  Outside the interrogation room, Detective Moule had updated Costa on the crime scene findings and the information gathered from Susan’s youngest son. Moule had been on the force for eight years, and during that time, he had worked ten homicides, four of them as lead investigator.

  Susan looked up at the other detective, but before she could reply to his question, Detective Costa jumped in. “What’s this about you believed your husband was with the Mossad, he had like millions stashed in a Cayman Islands account somewhere? Why would your son think that?”

  As with many of her previous responses, Susan’s explanation was long-winded and contradictory. It appeared she truly believed her husband was an Israeli agent, and she explained how this belief was based on the fact that Felix had insisted she sign a prenuptial agreement when they married in 1972.

  “And usually when people sign a prenup it’s because there’s something to protect, right?” she insisted. “And over the years, I mean he sort of had a way of talking about things that was kind of like, not straight out, but it was kind of like hinting around and under the surface and, you know, a lot of just, it was double talk. And he sort of would talk about having assets, it seemed like to me, that I would always be provided for and the kids would. But now that we’re getting divorced, I’ve asked him, you know, about that. He’s like, ‘no.’”

  Susan spoke in circles for nearly twenty minutes, citing various reasons why she believed her husband was a member of the Israeli Intelligence Agency. Another central component to her theory were statements allegedly made by Felix at the time of his ex-wife’s wedding that raised suspicions in Susan that Sharon’s new husband was a Mossad agent, too. Though Susan repeated them on many occasions, these allegations are unfounded.

  “We like to keep it in the family,” Felix had allegedly joked to her.

  Susan claimed that her husband’s offhanded comments were meant to telegraph certain information that he could not divulge for security reasons. Another clue was that Felix had treated CIA, ATF, and IRS agents in his practice, as well as several judges. She argued that he had to have some sort of high-level security clearance in order to care for such individuals, claiming he had hinted his affiliation with the Mossad enabled him to be “connected,” she said.

  “And I went and told someone, and he was like, ‘Oh, my God,’ that I had a ‘big mouth.’ And so I just speculated that his real loyalties, even if he is, or was, a government employee, are really with Israel because of statements that he’s made. So yeah, I did think…”

  Detective Costa pointed out that Felix had no family in Israel. “Has he ever traveled there?” he asked.

  “No, but his cousin who’s older goes back and forth quite a bit. And a lot of his, you know, clients do, and close family, friends type of thing.”

  At some point, Susan did an about face. She explained that while she once believed her husband’s connections to be real, her pronouncements of late had been more a tool to enrage him. Felix, she said, hated it when she accused him of such an association.

  Regardless, it was becoming clear that Susan’s diatribe was not advancing the investigation.

  “This is your time to tell us what happened and why,” Detective Costa directed.

  “But I didn’t see him today. I’ve told you what I know.”

  “Mrs. Polk, we know otherwise,” Detective Moule jumped in, and with an air of annoyance, he laid out the facts, as he saw them. “I’ve been talking to your son, Gabe, for a long time. And I know about the background and some problems that started about five years ago with memories about your father and all that. I know it’s personal. I’m not trying to embarrass you, but I know about that, know problems with, you know, keeping the boys out of school and taking the anklet off your son, he had to go to Byron and all that.

  “You know, you’ve had some problems around the house. We know about that. You probably saw all the people standing around, there’s a whole bunch of detectives with Detective Costa and I. And there’s other detectives, and we all have little jobs. And one of our jobs here is to interview you and interview Gabe. There’s other people processing the scene. There’s judges that are being contacted. And there’s scientists that are arriving at your house right now and they’re gonna go through that entire house. They vacuum every little particle.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Susan agreed.

  “Yeah. And there’s some evidence found that you’re probably aware of, there’s evidence that’s already been found that is putting you right up there,” Detective Moule offered.

  “Susan, your boys know that you did it,” he continued. “There’s not a doubt in their minds. They know. They go, ‘My mom did this, I know she did it.’”

  “I love my children,” Susan insisted.

  “They know you did it. You know what, I think you can do them a favor and let them know why, this is why it happened.”

  “I love my children even though you’re…”

  Detective Moule did not permit Susan to complete her thought. “A lie,” he interjected, his voice rising. “You might as well be spitting in their faces right now.”

  “I didn’t do it, no way, that’s ridiculous.”

  “You think they’re gonna think that you didn’t do this? They know you did it. Explain why. Tell Detective Costa why and he can document, this is why, this is what’s going on, this is the background, these are the problems.

  “You’re going, ‘I didn’t do that.’ They’re going, ‘Bull shit, my mom
just killed my father.’”

  Detective Costa cut in. “Susan, you’re obviously a smart woman. You have a nice background and everything. Think this through. You’re not gonna get away with this. It’s a done deal.

  “We know about how you went up and cleaned up. It’s all figured out. There’s scientists collecting that stuff. You’re not gonna beat this. You’re done. You’re caught up.”

  “I didn’t kill my husband. And I would think that nowadays, you know, that you would rely on more than guesswork or, you know, what children in the middle of a divorce would say. I mean you do have technological expertise and I’m sure you’ll figure it out. But I didn’t do it.”

  “Well, we’ve already figured out enough to know that you were involved.”

  “I was not involved.”

  “Your family is a lot more involved than just an argument here and there.”

  “Pardon me?” Susan was indignant.

  “There’s a lot more going on in your family than just an argument here and there between a couple,” Detective Moule repeated.

  “My husband really loved me and the kids, you know, I know that, and he just, you know, I was very fond…”

  “I’m sure he did,” Moule interjected. “Did you love him?”

  Susan hesitated. “I was very fond…”

  The detective looked directly at Susan and demanded, “Did you love him?”

  “I did for many years.”

  “But not lately.”

  “No, I didn’t love him anymore.”

  “Did you hate him?” Detective Moule asked.

  “No.”

  With the progression of the questions, it became clear that the detectives were not going to obtain a confession. Though the evidence was mounting, investigators could not convince Susan to confess to the crime. Costa insisted that she free herself from the “dream world” in which she was living.

  “I’ve been living in a dream world for many years,” Susan replied.

  “Well, it’s time to get out of that world, and let’s face reality here.”

  “No, I didn’t kill him,” Susan insisted.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Detective Costa continued to push. “This is how you want to leave it, just deny, deny, deny, lie, lie, lie, let me live in my little fantasy world and say I wasn’t involved, when everything is going to certainly tell us you were. I’m confident of that. I have no doubts about that.”

  Susan looked up. “Well, apparently you seem pretty sure that I did it, so there’s nothing that I can really say that’s gonna dissuade you, it seems like.”

  “The truth is always good.”

  “So maybe the scientific evidence will help,” Susan said.

  “I’m sure it will,” Detective Costa nodded. “That’s how you want to leave it, huh?”

  “I didn’t do it…. I’m very, very tired,” Susan declared. “If you’re gonna put me in jail, put me in jail, so I can go to sleep, okay?”

  Detective Costa smirked. “We’re taking care of that.”

  Chapter Six

  A GRISLY SCENE

  It was just before 7:30 AM on Tuesday, October 15, when Alex Taflya and Song Wicks of the Contra Costa Sheriff’s Office pulled up the steep driveway at 728 Miner Road. Rays of early morning sun streamed through the branches of the soaring oak trees surrounding the home. The residence felt more like an expansive tree house than a million dollar estate with its hilltop location, tangle of lofty trees and thick foliage. Detectives Jeff Moule and Mike Costa were waiting on the large wood deck between the main house and cottage to brief the criminalists.

  When he was first summoned to the scene the previous night, Costa performed a preliminary investigation of the main house where he observed damp washcloths in the shower stall of the master bathroom. It made sense, since Susan told him she had showered around 8 PM that night. During his search, he also located a steak knife with its tip slightly bent and a small piece of unidentified material stuck to it in the dishwasher. Despite these items from the main house, he was convinced that the crime scene did not extend beyond the redwood cottage where the seventy-year-old victim lay in a pool of his own blood.

  On this return trip, Costa and his team focused on the cottage in their search for bloody clothing; expended bullet casings; unfired cartridges; trace evidence on the floors, walls, countertops, and drains; any evidence that might be linked to the homicide. Upon arrival, the investigators agreed with the initial assessment that there was no forced entry into the cottage. The door located on the north side of the pool house was open, and the entire house was dark. In fact, the blinds were drawn throughout the cottage, including those on the sliding glass doors on the west side of the living room near the victim’s body and those on the south side of the bedroom in the rear of the house. In the kitchen, the windows were closed but not locked, and the blinds were shut so that only cracks of sunlight were visible.

  The kitchen was small, with barely enough room for the small, café-like wood table set beneath the bay window. The cabinetry was worn, with white paint chipping in spots. A delicate set of plates and saucers of blue and white bone china was displayed on one wall. While there was nothing of interest on the linoleum countertops, investigators noticed a partial bloody shoe print on the small, multicolor rug beneath the sink. More bloody shoe prints were observed on the wood floor in the hallway leading to the living area, as well as on the landing to the north of the living room, and again on the terra cotta tile on the living room floor, creating a trail that most likely indicated the killer’s path around the cottage.

  A foul smell grew stronger as the officers neared the body that lay face up on the living room floor. More than thirty hours had passed since Susan and her husband had engaged in what would be their final argument, and Felix’s body had been left in the sealed cottage. Standing over the corpse, police carefully documented and photographed its position. Felix Polk was lying on his back, with his legs pointing toward the kitchen and his arms outstretched at a forty-five-degree angle as if he’d fallen backward when he died. His eyes were wide open, and there were rivulets of blood on the front and right side of his face. His head was facing the bedroom at the rear of the cottage, and there was blood on the leather chair directly behind the victim’s head.

  The scene was grisly, with “a great deal” of blood on and around the victim’s body, the investigators noted in their report. Blood smears and spatter revealed that a violent struggle had taken place. An ottoman had been turned upside down, and an open book lay next to Felix’s left foot. Police observed that there was blood on one side of the ottoman but not on the top, which led them to conclude that it was knocked over early in the struggle, before any blood was spilled. There was also blood of a “medium velocity” found on the book, indicating that the victim had most likely been stabbed and/or beaten.

  While there had been much talk about a shotgun, there was no indication that a gun of any kind had been used in this murder. In fact, all signs pointed to a blunt force trauma and multiple stab wounds. The way Felix’s body was positioned on the floor indicated that he was sitting in a chair reading at the time of the attack and was most likely struck in the head, as indicated by the blood that had flowed from his head and pooled along the south wall of the living room.

  Investigators also noted that the blood on Felix’s chest and abdomen had smeared, suggesting he had been on his stomach at some point during the struggle. Police observed apparent stab wounds on the front and sides of his abdomen and chest area, and the rivulets of blood on the right side of his stomach suggested that his heart had still been pumping while he was lying on his back. Blood found on the bottom of Felix’s feet indicated he had been standing at some point during the struggle and had stepped in his own blood. Cuts were also apparent on the index fingers of his left and right hands, as well as the bottoms of his feet, indicating that he had tried to defend himself from attack. Upon closer examination of Fe
lix’s hands, police observed several hairs wrapped around the fingers of his right hand and another hair on the back of his left hand.

  Moving to the cottage’s tiny bathroom, police collected blood from the counter near the sink and from the linoleum tile floor. They also observed a substance that looked like diluted blood on the cabinet door handle in front of the sink. A hairbrush, toothbrush, toothpaste, and three bottles of prescriptive medication for “Felix Polk” were among the items on the windowsill above the sink, investigators wrote in their report. Lorazepam and Clonazepam, two drugs widely prescribed for the treatment of panic disorder, were among the medications that police collected from the bathroom.

  Police also removed a hair from the right faucet handle of the sink and two blue towels on the floor in front of the shower stall, which had apparent bloodstains. Additional forensic testing performed on the bloody shoeprints leading from the kitchen to the living room showed that “all of the shoeprints appeared to have the same sole pattern consisting of various multiple geometric shapes.”

  Once they had finished examining the cottage, the investigators went on to the main house for a more in-depth exploration that yielded additional evidence for the forensic team. Inside the small office on the first floor were handwritten letters to family members from the couple’s middle son, Eli, mailed from the Byron Boys’ Ranch, the 100-bed minimum-security facility, where he was currently serving time for his probation violation.

  It appeared from Gabriel’s interview with detectives earlier that morning that he had a good relationship with his father, yet Eli’s letters seemed to indicate another side to Felix Polk. “He basically writes how he hates it there in Byron Boys’ Ranch,” police noted in the report. “It’s apparent from these writings that Eli distrusts his father and even warns Gabe at one point to be careful of what he eats at home, especially if given to him by dad.