“Professor Thompson. It is a pleasure. I admired your work as a detective and became a real fan after reading your book and several of your articles on behavior and motivation. When Captain Ramirez said the two of you were doing a little collaborating on the 'Crucifixion Killings' and wanted some information from us, I just had to arrange it so I could meet you.”
Carly tried to hide his embarrassment at the unexpected compliments. “My pleasure, believe me. Call me Carly.”
“Fred for me, Carly. How can I help? Dave said you wanted information on people who might have spent time with Dombrowski while he was here. Are you two writing another book? If you are, I'll be glad to buy the first copy.”
“I wish it was for a book. Actually it has to do with the murders going on in the Los Angeles area. It appears that the murderer out there is doing some distinct copying of Dombrowski's M.O. Some of the finer details are getting replicated perfectly, some of which shouldn't have been common knowledge. The level of detail being duplicated wouldn't be the type of thing someone could have gleaned from a newspaper account or even my book. What I think may have happened is Dombrowski either told someone about the killings or as unlikely as it might be, knowing Dombrowski, he might have written down a detailed account that someone found and is using it to perpetuate the madness.”
Carly felt a little guilty in the way he painted the picture, as he wasn't sure what he believed himself, but he didn't want to rattle a straight shooter like Fred with wild speculations.
As if clairvoyant, the uniformed man spoke to the thoughts ricocheting in Carly's mind, “I saw the L.A. interview. I know what you are trying to say. It's pretty scary, stuff. The press would never understand how we feel when someone like Dombrowski gets dumped in our laps. It's like the bogeyman. We know he's not supposed to be real and shouldn't be hiding under the bed, but once you see him, nobody can ever convince you again that he's a figment of your imagination.”
Well prepared for Carly’s visit, Fred presented Carly a list of the thirty-some guards who had worked the death row unit during the two years that Dombrowski was there. Over twenty were still in the penal system in some capacity, with six of those still working death row. Another seven retired within the last eight years according to State schedules. Only three of the guards left the penal system without benefit of retirement. One had been fired for smuggling contraband and went through a work release program and is out on parole in the Grand Junction area. The other two guards had quit corrections and left state, their whereabouts unknown. Overall the turnover ratio and circumstances of the turnover were pretty typical for any group of guards. The two who had quit had less than five years seniority, which was the largest segment of guard turnover traditionally. Almost eighty percent of guard turnovers occur before the five years mark according to the Captain. Fred explained that the five-year point was a real benchmark as those guards who make five years of corrections service are a three to one bet on making twenty-five years. For whatever the five-year point was, it was a make it or break it year.
Interviews had been arranged during the afternoon and early evening that day, with all six of the guards who still worked on death row so as to cover the two shifts the men currently worked. Hoffman had asked both of the remaining inmates from Dombrowski's time if they would speak to Dr. Thompson. Ian Murdoch, who had killed and raped two teenage girls, basically indicated that he would rather “...fuck Satan, then talk to a cop or ex-cop.” Fred indicated sardonically, that Murdoch was quite likely to get his wish as his appeal process was utterly exhausted and was scheduled to die next week.
As for the other convict Jesse Brown, he had said he would talk with Carly, provided no notes were taken, the session wasn't taped, and the interview was not used as part of a media presentation, written article or book. Hoffman explained Brown, who had been convicted of killing two employees and one bystander in a convenience store robbery, had a religious conversion a couple of years prior. Although he felt himself saved, he still did not want to die and thus continued to appeal his execution, he felt that he should not have any benefit from his crimes thus he avoided the media like the plague. Ideally, Brown felt he should be allowed to live so he could conduct a prison ministry focusing on inmates who were about to be released. He wanted to try and convert them prior to returning to the secular world, so they would be less likely to succumb to all the original temptations that got them into trouble the first time. At the time of Carly's visit, no appeals judge had bought into Brown's plan or at least believed the sincerity of his endeavors.
Carly found talking with the guards interesting, but shed they no new light on Dombrowski and the time they had spent with him. Generally, the portrait they painted of the killer was one of a man locked into a silent and isolated existence. While death row is not a social event, they felt that Dombrowski had created even greater isolation for himself than was necessary. He refused all visitors, other than his attorney. One would think that he would have had a few requests for visits if nothing out of curiosity. Several clergy attempted to see him, as did countless members of the media but he accepted none of them.
By all accounts the hulking man had spent the bulk of his day in his cell doing nothing, neither reading nor writing, avoiding the hallway chatter of the other inmates, ignoring the guard's attempts at small talk. One guard told Carly that in the two years he worked with Dombrowski he never heard him speak…ever. Others indicated that they could get 'yes' or 'no' responses to questions that applied to fundamental life on death row, such as questions about being hungry, needing toiletries. Anything beyond the most mundane questions received a stony silence.
It appeared that Dombrowski spent time with his attorneys much in the same way. Although they were not allowed to listen to the exchanges they were required to observe all the meetings. To a man they all indicated that Dombrowski seldom appeared to talk to the lawyers. When he did, it seemed to be one-syllable responses. For all the intense scrutiny that the man received he did nothing while in prison to merit it. It was the guards' opinions that from the time Dombrowski entered the death row detention area until the time he died, he literally had done nothing. Not one of them felt Dombrowski had spent the necessary time and effort it would have taken to give anyone a detailed account of his murderous spree so that person could have reconstructed it later.
Jesse Brown was the highlight of Carly's visit, not so much as a source of information as he was a man of great interest personally. Striding into the interview room, the huge black man towered over Carly, as they stood face-to-face as they introduced themselves. The last time Carly had met anyone that much taller than him was a seven-footer he played basketball against in college. Jesse Brown was taller. He was also heavier as Carly estimated his weight in excess of three hundred pounds. As they sat across from each other, the huge manacled hands drummed on the table or flew through the air, albeit as far as the chains allowed, to illustrate a point.
As menacing as the man's body seemed, his eyes and face were as open and friendly as anyone Carly had met. Jesse laughed loudly and often. His level of confidence in that he would be delivered either from the execution slated later in the year or from the depths of hell should lethal injection be administered, was admirable. He displayed an earnest degree of conviction that he had been saved.
He had remembered Dombrowski, as he had the cubicle next to his. Jesse noted that this was prior to his 'deliverance’, as he called his religious conversion, and he had taken great joy in tormenting or trying to torment the quiet man living next to him.
“I used to call him every name in the book, just trying to get a rise out of him. I knew enough from the newspapers to push all the right buttons. I called him a queer, a faggot, priest-lover, dummy, everything I could think of but never ever did he respond. I wanted him to say something, anything just to have someone to talk to, or yell back and forth with. It got pretty boring in here before I got a real purpose to my life. Talking with the guards and the other cons is
all we have that's interactive. We can read. We get an hour of TV a day, and we can listen to the radio, but it's not the same as the back and forth of regular conversation. For whatever reasons he never spoke to me. I heard him answer the guards once in a while, but that was just 'yes' or 'no'. Nothing more.”
Carly spent a bit more time with Jesse listening to his plans of a ministry for outgoing convicts. The giant man felt God wanted him to make up for his sins a bit more before he died and he thought the best way was to help others stop sinning. He felt sure that he would not die without first having the chance for earthly atonement and the remainder of his life spent in preaching and teaching. With a smile and a wave, he left Carly sitting quietly and knowing no more about Petr Dombrowski and the madman in Los Angeles than he had that morning when he left Ft. Collins.
Fred was working late in his office as Carly walked by on his way to check out. The Captain raised his head and lured the professor into his office with a wave of a coffee cup and the promise of a fresh pot.
“How did it go Carly? Any luck?” he asked as he poured Carly's bribe into an old porcelain mug.
“No luck,” Carly responded dejectedly. “If Dombrowski talked with anyone he didn't do it here. Not to the guards, not to the other inmates.”
“Well, I got information on a few more staff who might have had more contact with him, before he died. One was the prison doctor, Khahil Hasan. He saw all the death row prisoners once a month. The other two people that would have spent time with Dombrowski would have been the two executioners.”
“Executioners?” Carly asked puzzled into what their involvement could have been other than the actual act of execution.
“Well, with the lethal injection process we have two people who administer drugs via IV to the condemned. One is giving the actual lethal material, while the other is giving a saline solution. The two of them do not know who is giving what, that way they can have some level of conscience about what they are doing. However, if you've ever met an executioner, they don't have a whole lot of remorse about the process. They believe that the death penalty is appropriate and justifiable and have no qualms about administering it. Most of them are solid citizens, usually strong in their religious beliefs, and feel that beyond fulfilling the needs of the law and society, they are doing God's will. Sort of the 'eye for an eye' type of business.”
Draining the remains of his cup, Fred reached for the pot and continued, “At any rate, we have two executioners. They aren’t guard staff and work directly out of the Warden’s office. They arrange the entire affair under the doctor's supervision, however they work pretty independently if you know what I mean, after all prison doctors are not the most detailed practitioners one would ever meet. The executioners secure the materials from the pharmacy, do the dosage, arrange the equipment, essentially they do everything. In the process of getting the job done, they meet with the prisoner a week or so before the execution. Primarily they get a body weight to determine the appropriate dosage, but they also do a psychological profile to also assist in determining dosage. Thus if someone is pretty high strung and anxious about the execution they will arrange a sedative through the doctor prior to the administration of the poison. This is usually done in concert with the prison physician to some degree. So both of the executioners' and the doctor would have had contact with Dombrowski before he died. In fact, considering the number of times his execution was scheduled then rescinded while his lawyers went through appeals, those three would have gotten as close a look at him as anybody, I would imagine.”
Fred stopped talking and looked at Carly a bemused look on his face.
Taking the bait, Carly asked, “Okay, I'm sufficiently interested, where are the three of them?”
“Funny you should ask,” Fred quipped displaying a wry sense of humor. “The good doctor came into a bundle of money a few years ago. He retired from practice and is living in a mountain town called Needlepoint, about two hours from here. The two executioners oddly enough died…both of them! One in a car crash shortly after Dombrowski was executed, the other had a heart attack about six months after that.”
“Fred, that's pretty amazing that the two executioners would both be dead. And in such close times of each other. How old was the guy who had the hard attack?”
“Thirty-nine. Pretty young for a coronary. I knew him. He played a great game of racquetball. He also skied and hunted the backcountry. Which tells you he was in good shape.”
“You could say the same thing about one of Dombrowski's lawyers who died of a heart attack about the same time. Was there any quirks in the car crash?”
“No not really. The highway patrol report indicates he fell asleep at the wheel and went over a mountain pass. There was no sign of alcohol or drugs. It was late, he was on a mountain road and fell asleep. A sure recipe for disaster. The only thing that hinky about it, is the timing with his partner's death.”
“What about the doctor? What's the story there?”
“Khahil Hasan was a Pakistani national. He came to the U.S. as a husband of an American citizen. From what I could gather, and I talked to a friend at Immigration, it appeared to be a rigged marriage. The woman answered an ad, flies to Pakistan and marries a doctor, they fly back to the States. They stayed together, at least address-wise for two or three years, long enough to satisfy Immigration and for Khahil to get his medical license. They separated once he's got a permanent work visa. I don't think they ever got a divorce, they just stopped playing house once Immigration and Naturalization wasn't watching. She was a hooker out of Colorado Springs.”
Carly immediately thought of Langella and his reputation as the attorney for a number of Colorado Springs prostitutes. The coincidences were building much too fast to be real.
“My friend at the INS said Immigration really doesn't get too picayune over some of the more desirable professionals when they come in this way. Hasan was a doctor, working for state government, not a real threat to national security and not a drain on the welfare system, so they let him play out his little rouse. No harm, no foul. There had been political troubles back home at the time of his immigration, so the State Department was even more obliging.”
Offering Carly another coffee, Fred started on the next cup as he continued, “Hasan wasn't much of a doctor...second rate education, second rate ambitions. Once he got into this country he realized he'd never make it in private practice. State service was ideal for him. You got to keep in mind, that for the state, the signature of a licensed practitioner is all they want at times. It satisfies federal regulators, the ACLU, and other advocacy groups. No one in the medical profession is going to say their comrade in arms is a second rate physician and no one outside of medicine has the right to say it. The only people who know are those of us who have been around a while, and of course the people that get worked on. Of course, most of the inmates aren't exactly connoisseurs of medical service. They didn't get much on the outside so whatever they get on the inside is gravy, and its free.”
Carly was amazed the laconic man he was talking with could be so calm as he consumed yet more coffee.
Fred continued however, precise and measured in his speech. “Hasan was adequate when he was here. He showed up, did his thing, signed where we told him to sign, and went home. From what I know about him personally, he stayed to himself, drank heavily, and went up to Colorado Springs on the weekends for the topless bars and hookers. Maybe he went to see his wife, maybe some of her friends, it's hard to tell. The whole relationship blurs when you try to separate the business from the pleasure.”
Snidely, Carly joked, “Maybe their pleasure was the business.”
“I understand it, I just don't like it,” Fred countered, obviously not amused by the doctor's lifestyle.
“Hasan sounds a lot like Dombrowski's other attorney. The one that ended up shot behind the ear in a parking lot at a topless bar in Colorado Springs,” Carly interjected, causing the Captain jerk upright in surprise.
“
Really?” he exclaimed. “How suspiciously coincidental.”
As he leaned back in his chair he thought about it and added more to a story that peeled away like the layers of an onion. “When Hasan came into a wad of money about a year after Dombrowski was executed. I never knew how much exactly, or where it came from, but it sounds like he got a million or more. Somebody said it was an inheritance, others said he made it big on some stocks. Who knows? I don't. He left state service shortly after that. Built a house up in Needlepoint and I believe he and his liver are still there, or at least he still is.”
The two sat looking at each other, pondering the coincidences surrounding those who served Dombrowski in his final days. It appeared that the doctor, being the lone survivor would be the best bet for information if there were any more to be had.
“What do think? Going up to Needlepoint tomorrow?” Fred asked smiling.
“You're a mind reader Fred.”
Ignoring the compliment, Fred handed Carly a pink memo slip lying on the desktop, “Before you head out, your pal Dave Ramirez left a message for you to call him at home this evening. He also said you should try turning on your phone once in a while.”
Carly drained the last of his coffee and nodded his assent. He unfolded himself from the office chair and thrust his hand out to the shorter man. “Thanks a lot Fred. I appreciate the work you've done. I've gotten a lot more information here than I have anywhere else. The coffee was good, the conversation better. Thanks.”
“Take care, Professor. When you get some time, come on back down. We can go trout fishing and you can set me straight on some things regarding motivation and the human psyche, or then again we can just do a little bullshitting and yarn swapping.”
MemoryMen Page 17