Margaret Truman's Experiment in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  Smith said nothing as he again looked at Sheila, who sat stoically in the blue plastic chair at the scarred table, arms wrapped tightly about herself as though trying to disappear into her surroundings.

  “She looks distraught,” Smith said.

  “For good reason,” said Owens. “Ready?”

  Owens led them into the room. Their sudden appearance caused Sheila to gasp and to straighten in her chair. Owens took a seat at the head of the table. Smith and Tatum sat opposite Sheila.

  “You know me,” Owens said, “from when I spoke with you at your home. Dr. Tatum was with me.”

  “I remember,” Sheila said, her voice quavering.

  “Remember me?” Smith asked. “I’m Mackensie Smith. We knew each other when you were working at GW.”

  “Yes, of course. Why are you here, Professor Smith?”

  “To act as your attorney during this questioning.”

  “Your wife is—”

  “Annabel,” Smith said. “You and she were in that book group together.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s just fine. Sheila, you don’t have to answer any of the detective’s questions if you don’t want to. You haven’t been formally accused of anything.”

  She let out a prolonged sigh, sat back, and pressed the palms of her hands against her face. “Accused?” she said. “Why am I even being asked about what happened to Dr. Sedgwick? He was my psychiatrist, that’s all. He was a good man and I’m sorry that he’s dead. But I had nothing to do with it. This is all a nightmare, something out of a horror movie.”

  Owens leaned his elbows on the table and said, “Ms. Klaus, Mr. Smith is right. You have no obligation to answer my questions, but—”

  “I’ve already answered your questions, Detective. You can continue to ask them and you’ll receive the same answers. You don’t seem to realize that—”

  Smith and Tatum had closely observed Sheila as she conversed with Owens. Smith didn’t notice the sudden change in her as quickly as Tatum did, but he wasn’t far behind. Up until that moment her face had been an open book, an expression that pleaded for understanding and belief in what she was saying. Then that same face turned hard and angry, her mouth a defiant slash, eyes cold. But it was the change in her voice that was most shocking. It was deeper, and she spoke more slowly, each word heavy with sarcasm and challenge.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said to Owens. “Go on, ask your stupid questions and then leave us alone.”

  “Us?” Owens said, as he, too, was aware of the change in her.

  Sheila blinked her eyes and leaned toward him as though to bring him into focus.

  “Are you all right, Ms. Klaus?” Owens asked.

  “Yes, of course I am. I’m fine.”

  “I’d like to go over some things we’ve talked about before to see if there is anything that you can add to your answers.”

  She looked to Smith. “I’ve already told them everything I know, which isn’t anything. Why do they have to keep asking the same things?”

  Smith said to Owens, “She has a point, Detective. I haven’t been privy to what you asked before, but unless there’s something new to explore, or you’re ready to charge her, I think this session is nonproductive and should end.”

  Owens knew that the attorney was right. He was unable to charge her in the Sedgwick murder because the United States attorney for the District of Columbia, whose office prosecutes all felony crimes in the District, had cautioned that the existing evidence against her was not sufficient to warrant an indictment.

  Owens stood. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Klaus,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

  “Thank God,” she said, drawing in deep breaths and wiping a tear that had run down her cheek. “I hope this is the last of it.”

  Tatum, who hadn’t said a word since entering the room, said to Owens, “Mind if we stay here a few minutes?”

  “Sure, stay as long as you like,” Owens said as he left.

  Smith looked quizzically at Tatum.

  “I’d like to spend a few minutes with Ms. Klaus, Mac. That is, if she’s willing.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Let me put it this way,” Tatum said. “I’m the one who asked Mac Smith to come and represent you. I’m not a cop, although I used to be. I’m a psychologist the MPD calls in on certain cases. I was the one who dug up your file at Dr. Sedgwick’s office and suggested to Detective Owens that he speak with you.”

  “You did that?” she asked. “Isn’t that a violation of doctor-patient rules?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes, but where a homicide is involved, the courts will sometimes issue a search warrant even when it involves a doctor and his patient. That was the case here.”

  “Why did you choose me?” she asked.

  “A couple of things captured my attention, Ms. Klaus. Look, maybe this isn’t the place to continue this conversation.” He looked around the spartan room and grinned. “Not nearly as pleasant as your lovely home. What say we—?”

  The door opened and Owens reentered, accompanied by two uniformed officers.

  “We’re just about to leave,” Smith said.

  “I’m afraid Ms. Klaus won’t be leaving with you,” said Owens. “I’ve just received a call from the U.S. attorney’s office.” He turned to Sheila Klaus. “We’re charging you with the murder of Dr. Mark Sedgwick. You have the right to remain silent—”

  “Wait a minute,” Smith said, interrupting the reciting of her Miranda rights. “Why the change?”

  “New evidence, Counselor.”

  The officers came around behind Sheila and placed their hands on her shoulders. “Please come with us,” one said.

  Sheila stiffened but remained seated.

  “Ma’am.”

  Sheila looked up at them and sneered. That hardened expression was back, and she said in her low, threatening voice, “Keep your hands off me.” She then laughed, a laugh that sent a chill through Smith. “All right,” she said, “just don’t touch me.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  Tatum and Smith watched as the officers escorted Sheila from the room.

  “I’d like to know what this new evidence is,” Smith said to Owens.

  “You’ll have to talk to the U.S. attorney about that,” was Owens’s reply.

  “I’ll do that,” Smith said.

  After Owens departed, Tatum asked Smith, “Did you see the sudden change in her?”

  “I certainly did.”

  “She talked about ‘us.’ That was a second personality who emerged.”

  “I’ve read about such phenomena but have never seen someone with a second personality before.”

  “Chances are she’s got more than one other personality, Mac. I’ve seen patients with as many as a dozen.”

  “She’s schizophrenic?”

  “No. Multiple personality disorder and schizophrenia are very different.”

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Smith said. “Are you going down a path leading to a claim that this so-called second personality was the one who ran down Sedgwick?”

  “I think it’s a possibility.”

  Smith drummed his fingertips on the table as he gathered his thoughts.

  “I’m not saying it’s true,” Tatum added, “but it has to be pursued.”

  “Let’s say it is true,” Smith mused. “Does that mean this other personality took over from Sheila and decided to kill Sedgwick on her own?”

  “That’s also possible,” Tatum said, “but less likely. Multiple personalities are almost always found in people who’ve suffered severe physical or psychological abuse as children. The second personality emerges to protect the real person, to fight his or her battles and to right wrongs. But killing someone without being directed to do it by another party doesn’t fit the pattern, at least based upon everything that I’ve learned and experienced—unless, of course, Sheila Klaus has murderous instincts, which obviou
sly doesn’t appear to be the case.”

  Smith exhaled and shook his head. “I’m still trying to get my arms around this,” he said. “Let’s say you’re right, that Sheila, or whoever her second personality is, was programmed to run down Sedgwick. If that’s the case, then who would want Sedgwick killed and would program Sheila, or her second personality, to do it?”

  “That’s worth finding out,” Tatum said, “if it’s even possible. Bear in mind, Mac, that many people who suffer from multiple personalities have more than just one. I had a patient who had sixteen distinct personalities that came out from time to time and for different reasons.”

  “Am I correct in assuming that you’ll want to spend time with her?”

  Tatum nodded.

  “First things first,” Smith said. “I’ll visit with her to be sure that she knows her rights. This is an unusual situation, Nic, and it’s going to take some serious legal thinking. Why don’t you use your former connections with the PD and see what you can find out about this new evidence that Detective Owens mentioned. I’ll head home after seeing her. Annabel and I had dinner plans that have been canceled. We can meet up at my apartment, say at six?”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  When Tatum arrived at the Watergate, Annabel greeted him. “Mac is on the phone,” she said. “He should be off soon.”

  Tatum settled in their living room and thumbed through the latest copy of Washingtonian until Smith emerged from his home office. “Find out anything about the new evidence?” Smith asked.

  “Yes, I did. MPD had confirmed through airline records that Sheila Klaus did in fact make four trips to San Francisco with Sedgwick, traveling as Carla Rasmussen. They also checked records to see whether she’d traveled alone there under the name Carla Rasmussen. She did, twice. None of that’s a surprise—I told you about it before—but her denials are working against her. What is new are the driver’s licenses they’ve come up with. Sheila Klaus’s license was in her possession, as would be expected. But they searched her house and came up with a second license, in the name of Carla Rasmussen. I got a look at it. The photo on it is of Sheila, only she’s wearing a black wig. It’s Sheila, all right, but she has the same expression in the picture as when she shifted into that second personality in the interrogation room. Same face, different person.”

  “She needed that second license to get through airport security,” Smith said.

  “Exactly,” Tatum said.

  “But the driver of the car was reported to be a blond woman.”

  “Just because it was this Carla personality driving the car doesn’t mean that she put on a dark wig. Sheila might don that only when instructed to.”

  “Then who arranged for that second license?” Smith asked. “Sedgwick? That’s a lot of bother to go through to keep his wife from knowing about his affair.”

  “A good question, Mac.”

  “Okay,” Smith said, “she made four trips with Sedgwick under the name of Carla Rasmussen, and then two more trips on her own. Where did she go when she was out there? What did she do?”

  “I have the same question. I got back in touch with Sedgwick’s receptionist, Betty Martinez. She paid all of Sedgwick’s bills, part of her job. She went through the files again and gave me the name of a limo service in San Fran that Sedgwick always used when he was out there. I called from a phone at headquarters and told them that I was MPD working on a murder case that involved one of their regular customers, a slight exaggeration but close enough. They checked their records and told me that their drivers picked up Sedgwick and a female companion four times at the Hyatt on the Embarcadero and drove them to a clinic in Berkeley, the Lightpath Psychiatric Clinic. The dates match the airline records. The bill was paid by Sedgwick on his credit card.”

  “What about the two trips when she traveled alone?” Smith asked.

  “No record of her on those dates from the limo company. She either took cabs or was picked up by someone. The fellow at the limo company also checked his records regarding trips that Sedgwick made on his own. There were dozens of them, and each time he was driven to Lightpath. The detectives who questioned Sedgwick’s ex-wife reported that she said he was involved with some clinic in San Francisco. I’d say that he was deeply involved.”

  “I made a few inquiries myself after leaving her. This calls for full-time hands-on legal counsel, Nic. I want to bring in another attorney to handle it on a day-to-day basis. I’ll oversee it.”

  “Whatever you say. Someone in mind?”

  “Yes, a former teaching colleague of mine, Marie Darrow.”

  “Aptly named,” Tatum quipped.

  “She’s a crackerjack. I’m meeting with her in the morning. She’s agreed to work with me. We’ll need your input, too.”

  “Sure.”

  “If what you say is true, the obvious defense for her is a plea of insanity using the multiple personality as its basis. Frankly, I don’t hold out much hope for that with a jury, assuming it comes down to a trial. There have been cases in which multiple personality disorder was the basis for the defense, the accused claiming that it was his other self who actually committed the crime. Juries didn’t buy it. But there was an Ohio case back in the seventies where a man was declared not guilty by reason of insanity in four rapes. And there was another case, this one in California, where some guy shot his common-law wife and claimed it was his second personality. He got off, too. Nevertheless, there are six or seven of those cases every year, and in most of them the jury dismisses the claim that there was a second personality involved.”

  “But it’s a recognized mental illness,” Tatum said. “The medical profession knows it even if juries are slow to accept the concept. There’s another potential aspect to this that should be explored.”

  “Which is?”

  “What we touched upon earlier, the possibility that she was controlled through this second personality.”

  “Mind control?”

  “Exactly. I have nothing tangible to base it on, but I’m convinced that she has absolutely no recall of anything having to do with Sedgwick’s death. That sort of selective amnesia almost always involves someone else implanting it.”

  “Who?”

  Tatum reinforced his shrug with, “I don’t know, but I’d love to find out. If it’s true, it would mean that the same person who created amnesia in her also programmed her to kill Sedgwick. Why else would he bother to wipe out her memory?”

  “Whew,” was all that Smith could muster.

  “Yeah, I know, it sounds like a stretch, a big one, but unless you have a better theory, I’d like to pursue this one. It will mean spending more time with her.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, especially with your credentials and connections with MPD. I could name you part of the defense team.”

  “No,” Tatum said. “I’d rather keep it out of official channels. If I’m involved with her defense, I’ll lose my inside track at MPD. I think a better way to go is to hire me to do an independent psychological evaluation of her.”

  “Consider it done. I have to admit that I’m having trouble accepting the concept of her being programmed to deliberately run down and kill her psychiatrist and have no recollection of it—the event or the programming. Oh, and on top of that, she has a second personality named Carla Rasmussen who actually did the deed.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Tatum said through a small laugh. “But let me tell you this, Mac. I know that the media, the movie and TV people, love the subject of multiple personalities and mind control. The Manchurian Candidate, the Richard Gere film Primal Fear, Sybil, even more recently that dreadful Lindsay Lohan flick I Know Who Killed Me—they all make dramatic hay out of it. But it’s more than a plot device. It’s real for too many people, whether their childhood experiences helped develop other personalities inside them, or whether it’s been induced by others. Look at the history of the CIA’s experiments with innocent people as a good example of how someone can be mani
pulated to do someone else’s bidding. It’s not fiction, Mac. It’s a medical reality.”

  Smith didn’t challenge him. His own reading on the subject of hypnosis had educated him on its potential to control certain individuals, and the knowledge that the government—his government—had enlisted numerous doctors and scientists to conduct experiments on unwitting subjects going back many decades.

  He’d seen some of the movies Tatum had mentioned and had read books about mind control. Once he and Annabel were introduced to Tatum’s immersion in medical hypnosis, Mac had broadened his knowledge but never completely lost his skepticism. Nevertheless, its potential use to trial lawyers was what had prompted him to bring Tatum in to teach a seminar at GW on the subject.

  But all the experiments involving the control of the mind that Smith had read about were conceived, funded, and conducted by the government. If Tatum’s thesis was right, then someone with a grudge against Mark Sedgwick and who was skilled in the use of hypnosis used that knowledge to manipulate Sheila into killing him. As much as Smith bought into the notion that people could be brainwashed, applying it to Sheila Klaus was hard to accept.

  “You stopped in to see her after I left?” Tatum asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How was she?”

  “Upset, as you can imagine. She continues to insist that she had nothing to do with Sedgwick’s murder and that she never took a trip with Sedgwick, let alone four of them.”

  Tatum’s expression mirrored what he was thinking. There was tangible proof that she’d taken those trips with Sedgwick, yet she adamantly denied having traveled with him despite being confronted with the evidence.

  Annabel whipped up a quick dinner for them. Afterward, they sat on the balcony sipping single-barrel bourbon.

  “You say that the limo company in San Francisco took Sedgwick and Sheila to a psychiatric clinic in Berkeley,” Smith said.

  “Right. The Lightpath Clinic.”

  “Do you know anything about that clinic?”

  “Just scuttlebutt. Rumor has it that it’s government funded.”

  “Government? What branch of government?”