(Un) Sound Mind

by Richard Amico

  “No, that doesn’t help at all. I’m afraid there isn’t anything else I can tell you. I’m sorry. I just don’t have anything else I can say.” Ruth had accomplished her task. She had learned what was in the burglar’s pocket without incriminating Franklin or impugning her own veracity.

  She’s lying, Peirce thought. This isn’t over.

  “Well, thank you for trying,” Peirce said. “Let me know if you remember anything that might be helpful.”

  After closing the call with Ruth Klein, Sam Peirce formulated a plan. His thought process went something like this: Dr. Klein knows more than she’s saying. Since Sylvia Radcliffe is dead and doctor-patient privilege no longer applies, any information she’s withholding must be coming from another patient, one she’s not at liberty to identify.

  Sam decided to find out who else might be involved in his case.

  “Holloway, this is Peirce. Set up a stakeout in the parking lot outside Dr. Ruth Klein’s office,” he said, juggling his cell phone as he pressed the lid down on his container of coffee and placed the two doughnuts back in the Dunkin’ Donuts bag.

  “Twenty-four–seven or just during office hours?” Holloway asked.

  “Office hours should do it. Keep an eye peeled for a late-model silver Toyota driven by one of her patients. Don’t approach, just run the plate and call me.”

  Sam Peirce collected his coffee and bag of doughnuts, and as he reached the exit door, he unceremoniously dropped them in the round black plastic trash can and walked back to his car parked in front of Alicia’s house. Once there, he drove home to change into a suit and continued on to work.

  20

  Ruth Klein had a dilemma. She had studied psychology and psychotherapy for twelve years and had been in practice, private and other, for at least eight more. In all that time, she had never seen any conclusive proof of psychic phenomenon and wasn’t about to accept Franklin’s theory of “How else could I know this?” without more proof. There were probably many logical reasons why Franklin’s dreams so closely resembled future events. She just couldn’t think of any.

  He did tell her about the burglar jumping through the window in his dream on a Tuesday, and the newspaper said it happened days later. That sounded fairly convincing, but it could still be just a coincidence. Jumping through a window may have been a logical way for his subconscious mind to allow the burglar to escape and thus end the dream without Franklin being harmed. It could simply have been an escape mechanism his mind used for self-protection while dreaming. It’s logical that a burglar might jump out of a window to escape police in real life, so why not jump out of a window in a dream. Coincidence!

  Franklin said the burglar had stolen a small plastic box. That could have been the flash drive Lieutenant Peirce said was found on Mortimer Banks’s body, but then again, Franklin only described a small plastic box. The box could have been a ring box or some other small jewelry box rather than the flash drive; that would be logical. Again, it was just a coincidence.

  That seemed to explain the dream of the burglar, but she had a more difficult problem to work on. Franklin’s dream of the murder was just too detailed and too close to the actual facts reported in the newspaper to be mere coincidence. And even if she could explain away (or maybe rationalize was a better word) some of the facts, how could she explain his description of the yellow rose tattoo on Sylvia’s hip? The fact that she even had a tattoo was kept secret by the police. To Ruth’s knowledge no one outside the official investigation (and herself, of course) knew about it—except for Franklin. How could he have known unless he actually saw the tattoo? He said he didn’t know the woman who was murdered, although he did say she looked vaguely familiar. Well, it takes more than a vague familiarity with a young woman to see a tattoo on her naked hip. If he had a relationship with Sylvia, he was lying to hide it. That alone would make him a suspect in the murder.

  Using all the logic Ruth Klein could muster still could not resolve this dilemma. Either Franklin was a violent person and had some involvement in the murder, which she was beginning to strongly doubt, or he was psychic and had had a premonition of the murder. How else could he know? “Well, that was a well-spent half hour,” she said out loud.

  ***

  Franklin arrived at the parking lot of Dr. Klein’s office and parked his car at the side of the building next to the tall cedar trees, far from the lampposts illuminating the front lot. He felt a little uncomfortable parking in the dark. Normally he would be afraid of muggers lurking among the trees, but tonight he felt it was worth the risk. He had a plan, and if he decided to act on it, stealth and caution would be of paramount importance. Some of his fears were allayed by the fact that the parking lot was not totally empty. In the far corner of the lot, a man sat in a dark-blue sedan reading a newspaper, apparently waiting for his wife or girlfriend to come out of the building after a dental appointment, or maybe a Botox treatment, Franklin mused. He walked close to the building to avoid being seen, ambled up the stairs, and slipped into the front door while the man’s face was buried in his newspaper. Franklin removed a Band-Aid from his pocket, peeled off the wrapper, and stuck the pad of the bandage to the tip of his cane. He tapped it on the floor to ensure that it didn’t click against the tile as he walked. James Bond couldn’t have done better, he thought as he slunk down the hall to Dr. Klein’s office.

  ***

  Ruth Klein was sitting at her desk. She watched Franklin through her open office door as he entered her waiting room. He was wearing a black T-shirt, tight black jeans, and rubber ripple-soled black shoes. Where’s your black watch cap and mask? He looked like a cartoon cat burglar on his way to steal a pie that someone had left cooling on a windowsill.

  “Dr. Klein, I believe I can solve the murder of Sylvia Radcliffe. I’m sure that if I can see the room where she died, I’ll remember more about the killer. I’m sure I can find a clue or a lead at the murder scene that will solve the crime.”

  He’s further gone than I thought. “That sounds like a great idea. Let’s call the police and offer your assistance. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help.” Whether he’s clairvoyant or just nuts, this will work for me.

  “I can’t go to the police until I have more proof. They might not understand and think that I had something to do with the murder.”

  “Franklin, as your doctor, I’m bound not to divulge anything you say to me, but if you plan to commit a crime, like breaking into a house, I would be required to report it to the police. Privilege no longer would apply.”

  “No, I’m not ready to go to the police yet,” he said. “I’ll just stand in front of the house for a few minutes. I need to feel some vibrations from it.”

  Nuts, that didn’t work. If it’s vibrations he wants to feel, maybe he should get a vibrator. I’d give him mine if I thought it would get him to forget this delusion and commit himself.

  “Franklin, I don’t think going to Sylvia’s house is the right thing to do. You won’t be able to go inside to see the room where she was killed, and I’m not sure any vibrations will reach you from the front lawn.” Did I really say that?

  “It’s worth a try,” he said. “Come with me. I need a witness and some help interpreting the clues.”

  Ruth Klein suddenly had an idea. She could go with him, and once he received his “vibrations,” or more likely, he didn’t, she would convince him to go with her to share his clues and evidence with the police. If she couldn’t control him and he broke the law by entering the house or in any other way, she could still call the police and have him arrested. She decided to go with him, knowing it was probably a big mistake, but alone he might do something really foolish and get himself hurt or worse. After all, he was her patient and she had some responsibility for his well-being. She realized that she was beginning to feel some kind of emotion for him. Pity, she hoped.

  ***

  Franklin and Dr. Ruth Klein walked down the corridor from Ruth’s office to the side door of the building. Franklin put his
finger to his lips and pointed at Ruth’s shoes. Her heels were clicking on the tile floor. Ruth heaved a heavy sigh and took off her shoes. She shivered as she remembered the last time she removed her shoes in this corridor and hoped this evening would be less eventful.

  Ruth walked in the shadows to appease Franklin’s paranoia and carefully closed the car door with as little sound as possible. Franklin started his car and said, “Now that’s the way to keep a low profile and make a clean getaway. I’m really quite good at this spy stuff.” Ruth rolled her eyes and felt around in her pocket for the object that had become a prerequisite for all meetings with Franklin, her pepper spray.

  As Franklin pulled out of the parking lot and turned north toward Silicon Springs Golf Course, the man in the dark-blue sedan at the end of the lot sat upright in his seat and started his engine. He waited until Franklin had cleared the lot, then turned on his lights and followed at a safe distance.

  Franklin drove to Silicon Springs Golf Course and located the Radcliffe home from the address in the newspaper obituary. He continued past and parked his car four blocks away. He suggested that they climb fences and travel through backyards until they reached the house so that they wouldn’t be noticed. Ruth had a better idea. She took his arm and walked down the sidewalk as if they were a couple just out for an evening stroll. It seemed a lot less strenuous and easier on her clothes.

  When they reached the house, Ruth noticed a dark-blue sedan parked across the street and a second car just fifteen or twenty feet farther down the road. There was no reason why she should be suspicious, and she decided that both she and Franklin were so on edge that even a barking dog would probably frighten them enough to necessitate a change of underwear.

  Franklin walked up to the home and placed his hand against the siding. Ruth would have laughed if she could have stopped her upper lip from trembling. Franklin began to walk to the back of the house. Ruth hissed for him to come back, and when he didn’t, she ran to the backyard to find him. As she turned the corner, she stopped abruptly, almost tripping over her own feet. She saw Franklin and two other men standing in the shadows. One man was holding Franklin with one arm around Franklin’s neck, and the other was twisting his arm behind his back. The other man shone a flashlight in Ruth’s eyes and said, “Good evening, Dr. Klein. This is Detective Samuelsson. You may have noticed him sitting in your parking lot; I suspect you didn’t. You must be Franklin Jameson. Samuelsson ran the plates on your car and called me just after you arrived at Dr. Klein’s office.”

  Samuelsson placed a pair of handcuffs on Franklin’s wrists while Lieutenant Peirce held out another set toward Ruth and said, “May I do the honors, Dr. Klein?”

  “There is a very logical explanation for us being here. Actually, you’ll laugh when you hear it,” Ruth said.

  “I’m looking forward to it, Doctor,” he said. “I think I’ll hear it at the police station.”

  “Wait, Lieutenant. We’re here because Franklin has evidence that he believes will help solve Sylvia’s murder, and he needed to see the house before he called to tell you what he knows.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me?” Peirce asked. “I would have been glad to listen.”

  “I couldn’t call you because of the Psychologist’s Code of Conduct, and Franklin was afraid you might misunderstand and suspect him of the murder.”

  “Well, this little field trip seems to have defeated both your purposes. I do suspect him, and I don’t think much of your conduct, psychologist or not.”

  “Please, Lieutenant, just let him see the murder scene. You have nothing to lose, and he may be able to tell you something that might help.”

  Lieutenant Peirce reached in his pocket, took out a key, and opened the lockbox on the wall next to the side door. He unlocked the door and swung it wide open, then motioned for Samuelsson to take Franklin into the house.

  “Will I be needing these, Doctor?” he asked, waving the handcuffs in front of him.

  ***

  Samuelsson held Franklin’s shoulder, Franklin’s hands cuffed behind him, as he climbed the stairs to the long hall leading to the master bedroom. Ruth followed, closely observing Franklin’s reaction to his surroundings. He stopped several times on the stairs, causing Samuelsson, and, in turn, Ruth Klein and Lieutenant Peirce, to falter and almost run into him. Franklin closed his eyes and took long, deep breaths each time he stopped, apparently waiting for a sign or whatever psychic information he believed was forthcoming. Lieutenant Peirce leaned toward Ruth and whispered, “Great act. When do the voices start?”

  Ruth turned and glared at the lieutenant.

  “Do you really believe this crap?” the lieutenant asked.

  Ruth was two steps above Peirce, facing him on the stairway. She towered more than head and shoulders over him.

  “This man is under my care, Lieutenant, and I would appreciate a little understanding and some respect for his condition,” she said just above a whisper.

  Peirce craned his neck to look up at her and said, “This man is…”

  He stopped, walked up one step, and turned to her again. This time he found himself about to talk to her throat. He took another step up, and they were finally face to face. “This man is a suspect in a murder investigation, and that is the way he will be treated.”

  Ruth pursed her lips, stepped up one step, and again forced him to look up at her six-foot-one-inch prominence.

  “Being in a position of power is no reason to be disrespectful,” she said in a slightly louder voice. Peirce bit his lip, climbed two steps above Ruth, and said in a louder voice, “For Christ’s sake, you’re a woman of science; you can’t believe this crap.”

  Ruth clenched her fists, her cheeks red and quivering with anger. She turned, stomped up three steps, and shouted, “I think he’s as nuts as you do, but that’s no reason to humiliate him.” She turned, and in a calm voice said, “Sorry, Franklin.”

  She then straightened her posture, raised her head so that her nose was almost even with her eyes, and slowly walked up the remaining steps with as much dignity as she could salvage.

  ***

  Two halogen lamps on tripods left by the forensic team were the only lights in the master bedroom. Both brass nightstand lamps had been knocked over in the violence of the murder. The bloody bed linens and the debris from the broken window were gone, removed by a professional crime-scene cleaning service. A piece of plywood blocked the opening where Mortimer Banks had catapulted himself onto the garage roof on his way to his first abrupt meeting with Peirce and Holloway and his final abrupt meeting with a telephone pole.

  “Can you take off these handcuffs?” Franklin asked, looking at Dr. Klein for support. “I need to touch things.”

  “Cuff his hands in front of him,” Peirce said to Samuelsson. He then looked at Ruth and said, “That’s the best I can do.”

  Ruth nodded to Franklin, and he accepted his fate without complaining.

  Franklin walked around the bedroom, touching objects as he passed, with Samuelsson close behind. He stood in front of the broken footboard from the bed for almost a full minute, and then walked with his entourage into the bathroom. Franklin looked at the mirror, then stepped into the bathtub.

  “This isn’t right,” he said.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Peirce. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What’s not right?” Ruth interrupted.

  “The whole thing isn’t right, none of it,” Franklin said. He seemed terribly confused and was holding his cuffed hands against his forehead.

  “That’s it, Samuelsson, take him outside.” Peirce motioned to the hall.

  “No, wait. Please give me one more minute.”

  Without waiting for Peirce to reply, she said, “Franklin, what specifically isn’t right about the rooms?”

  Peirce nodded at Samuelsson, who stepped back to give Franklin some room.

  “Well, first, the mirror is the wrong shape—the one in my dream was rectangular; this is oval.
There’s no towel hook next to the tub. I hung my robe on a hook, and the bathtub is the wrong shape.”

  “What is he talking about?” Peirce asked.

  “I dreamed of this murder a week before the night it happened. I saw it all, but the rooms were different. There was a four-poster bed, and the footboard was broken, but it was a different bed, not this one. It had carvings on the posts. The dresser was where it is now, but the stone fireplace was on the opposite wall. It’s a very similar room, but it’s not right.”

  “So you caused all this fuss over a dream that was similar to a murder you read about in the newspaper?” Peirce said to Franklin. “And you encouraged this fruitcake to come here and waste everybody’s time?” he said to Dr. Klein. “I should arrest both of you for hindering an investigation and wasting police time. Samuelsson, take off his cuffs and get him out of here. We have a murder to solve.”

  Franklin backed away from Samuelsson as he approached. “I know about the tattoo, the yellow rose tattoo on Sylvia Radcliffe’s hip.”

  Peirce took a step toward him. “I told Dr. Klein about the tattoo; she probably told you.”

  “What about the 911 call, the anonymous call telling you where the body was hidden? That was me. I’m sure you could match my voice to the tape to prove it.”

  Ruth placed her hands on her head and shook it from side to side.

  “Samuelsson,” Peirce said, “I think it’s time to read Mr. Jameson his rights. Dr. Klein, I’m considering whether or not to arrest you for obstruction of justice or aiding and abetting a criminal or hindering an investigation. I’m not sure what you did wrong, but I’m sure you did something.”

  “She didn’t know,” Franklin said. “I never told her that I called in the location of the body. All I told her about was a dream, and she had no right to tell anyone what I said.”

  Ruth Klein looked at Franklin and silently mouthed the words, Thank you.

  “Dr. Klein, you can go for now, but I’ll be asking for a statement in the near future. Don’t leave town,” Lieutenant Peirce said in a stern, businesslike tone.