“A plea? Do you really think that worm Levy would consider a plea? My guess is he’s feeling real good about his case right now.”
“You can thank the Jersey cops for that,” Galub said. “A warrant would have made all the difference here.”
“Well, that doesn’t bode well for their case, either.”
“Very true, Detective. When they charge Sullivan for the motel murder, Levy will use the same tactics down there. Unless they get a good judge, the search will be suppressed and Sullivan will walk.”
“So what kind of plea are you thinking about?”
“I’d offer him eight to ten years but settle for something less.”
“You know the public will go nuts,” Stone said. “And that girl’s family will never let this go. Even worse, we have no idea what happened to her. I mean, she may still be alive somewhere, and we’re going to let this guy plead out?”
“We could always take our chances and wait for a ruling. If we lose, we can still bring charges again with new evidence.”
“It’s a crap shoot either way, but I’d feel better about a plea if we could only locate Jamie Houston.”
“I’m in total agreement, Detective. I’ll have another conversation with Levy and feel him out. In the meantime, try and dig up some dirt.”
“Will do, Counselor.”
CHAPTER 87
Galub and Levy faced off in the conference room at the District Attorney’s office in lower Manhattan.
“We need to coordinate the examination by our psychiatrist, Mr. Levy.”
“I’ve got no problem with that, Ms. Galub. I’m confident that your expert will confirm that I have a sound basis for a defense of lack of criminal responsibility by reason of mental disease or defect. In fact, Mr. Sullivan’s fragile mental state coupled with the interaction of the pills he’s been taking has had serious effects on his mental faculties. If I don’t prevail on my suppression motion—and I strongly believe that I will—there is no doubt in my mind that my defense will be successful. You may want to consider saving us all the trouble and just settle for committing him to a psychiatric hospital, where he can be further evaluated. Thereafter, at such time as it is determined that he is no longer of diminished capacity, he can be released.”
“Please, Counselor, do you actually think we’re going to just let him walk? What you’re suggesting is basically a six-month ticket to freedom.”
“Ms. Galub, with the evaluation I have from a well-regarded expert in the field, there is little doubt. My client suffered from delusions brought on by the drug he was taking.”
“Really, Mr. Levy? Do you actually think I’m going to believe this fiction?”
“This is hardly fiction. I witnessed a very enlightening session my client had with Dr. Sinead O’Reilly, the psychiatrist I retained as my expert. In fact, I recorded it.” Levy took a pause and looked away from Galub before he continued. “Procedurally, you know I don’t have to provide you with this at such an early stage of the case—but eventually I will be required to—so after due consideration, I have decided to allow you and your psychiatrist to listen to it now. I believe it will help you to understand what we are dealing with—and perhaps convince you that in the interests of justice, this case should be pled out.”
“Please, Counselor, spare me the dramatics and give me a hint. Where are you going with all this?”
“Well, Ms. Galub, what would you say if I told you that I believe that Troyer Savage does not exist?”
“I would say that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“As I suspected. You don’t even have a clue what is really going on here.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Levy. Would you care to explain?”
“Have you ever heard of DID, Ms. Galub?”
“Are you referring to Dissociative Identity Disorder?”
“Yes I am.”
Shocked, Galub said, “Where are you going with this, Mr. Levy?”
“The writing is on the wall, Ms. Galub. Listen to the tape and you’ll see.”
“So you’re saying that this recording of yours will substantiate your claim?”
“I believe so,” Levy said, handing her the recording. “Just keep an open mind when you play this back.”
“I must say, Counselor, you know how to throw a curve.”
* * *
Two hours later, Dr. Elliot Gabay joined Galub in the conference room at the office of the New York County District Attorney.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Gabay,” Galub said, “I just finished listening to a very interesting recording, and I need you to hear this. I know my partner has already briefed you on the case. I just want to make sure that you have also read the file.”
“I have, Ms. Galub,” Dr. Gabay said, with a slight Middle Eastern accent. “I am completely up to speed and anxiously await the presentation.” The crisp pronunciation of his words conflicted with his Mediterranean features and heavily pockmarked skin.
Galub switched on the recording and let it play without interruption.
Thirty minutes later, the recording ended.
Gabay cleared his throat. “Quite intriguing.”
“Please elaborate, Doctor. I have my own thoughts, but first, I’d like to hear your analysis.”
“Very well. Just understand that without visually seeing this man and speaking with him, I can only offer preliminary observations. There is insufficient information to make a diagnosis.”
“Understood,” said Galub.
“It seems evident that Mr. Sullivan has suffered a number of traumatic events in his past and that these events occurred during his formative years. I point this out because when an emotional incident takes place at a young age, it has a much more profound effect on the mental development of the subject. Having said that: I also note that this individual was quite easily hypnotized and very responsive to suggestion. When asked to recall bad memories, he immediately focused on particularly horrific events, which indicate that these memories have been hiding close to the surface.”
“Are you suggesting that his conscious mind does not recall what happened?” Galub asked.
“Most likely. And taking this further, I would say these memories have been repressed because they are too painful to think about. The mind has defenses just as the rest of the body does. However, in cases like this, the repressed memory still haunts. Sometimes, it may lay dormant for the subject’s entire lifetime and never have an impact. Other times, a trigger can set it off, create havoc in the mind, and cause all manner of psychotic behavior.”
Galub interjected. “Do you think that the migraine drug has triggered all this?”
“That’s a good point, Ms. Galub. The chemical compounds found in those pills can be dangerous. Any of the substances alone, and certainly combined, could cause problems. Despite all the research that has been done on these drugs, we still don’t know precisely what harm they can do though. In fact, different subjects have experienced a wide variety of side effects from the same medications.”
“More to the point, Doctor,” Galub prodded, “is there any evidence that would suggest that such a combination of ingredients could bring about Dissociative Identity Disorder?”
“If you’re asking me if I think that this research group may have created a potion in the fashion of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I would be highly suspect. That is pure fiction. In all my years of practice, I haven’t come across such a thing. Truthfully, though, with all the advances in modern drug development, I cannot rule it out. More research is needed, and the fastest way to do this would be to review the files at The Center for Migraine Pain Management. Of course, I must also conduct my own examination of Mr. Sullivan before I draw any conclusions.”
“Well, Doctor, examining Sullivan is no problem, but getting access to the files at the Center may be next to impossible. I’m sure they have a battery of attorneys at their disposal, and doctor-patient privilege will pretty much stop us in our tracks. Unless we can find a way to es
tablish probable cause for criminal activity, no judge in this jurisdiction will sign a subpoena giving us access to privileged medical information.”
PART THREE
CHAPTER 88
Some fat-ass guard takes me from my cell and brings me down to an interrogation room, where my lawyer is waiting for me.
“How are you, Tommy?” he asks me, acting like he really gives a shit.
“Fantastic, dude,” I answer, all sarcastic. “I mean, how would you feel being locked in a six-by-eight cell with a toilet standing right next to your bed? Yeah, ‘bed’—now that’s a laugh. The damn mattress has to be over thirty years old. Who knows what kind of bugs are crawling around inside of it? I haven’t slept much these last few days. You’ve got to get me outta here.”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about, Tommy. I’ve got a plan, but I need your permission before I take it much further.”
He sounds real serious, and he’s talking near a whisper, so I’ve got to hear this. “Go on.”
“Okay, Tommy, I’m going to be frank. Some of what I say may offend you, but I want you to know I’m saying this for your own good. Yesterday, when you were under hypnosis, I was observing through the two-way mirror. After your session ended, I met with Dr. O’Reilly, and we talked about it.”
“Honestly, I can’t remember any of it.”
“I know, Tommy; she said you wouldn’t. But the fact is a lot came out, and, well, this is difficult for me to say, so I’m just going to say it. It appears that you’ve suffered quite a few traumatic events while you were growing up, and you’ve suppressed them. We now suspect that the drug you’ve been taking has caused these bad memories to resurface. We also believe that in an effort to deal with the pain of these memories, your mind has created an alter ego.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, it’s like this, Tommy: I want you consider the possibility that Troyer Savage doesn’t actually exist . . .”
I open my mouth like I’m going to say something, but he holds up his hand and looks directly into my eyes.
“Before you interrupt me, Tommy, hear me out. We think the drug is responsible for causing your mind to create Troyer Savage.”
“Wait a second. Are you trying to say that Troyer’s not real and I just made him up? No fuckin’ way, man. The dude is as real as you are. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I‘ve talked to him. I’ve watched him kill a chick. I’ve hit him, and he’s hit me. You can’t be serious!”
“Tommy, I know this is hard to digest. Even I’m not fully clear on how this can be, but Dr. O’Reilly is. And she’s an expert in the field. The fact is: It’s not your fault and we can use it to help your case.”
At this point, I’m starting to get pissed-off because Levy’s talking wild shit that makes no sense, and I’m starting to think he’s the crazy one—or maybe that shrink is. I get up, walk over to the mirror, and stare deep into it. “Is anyone watching us?”
“No, that would be a violation of your rights. We are all alone, I assure you.”
“Still, this is totally messed up. You’re never going to convince me that Troyer doesn’t exist. I don’t care what that shrink says!”
“Calm down, Tommy. Don’t work yourself up.”
“Are you serious? How do I calm down when you’re telling me I made up a whole other person? That’s impossible. How do you explain all the shit I’ve seen him do? And what about Aurora? Who kidnapped her, then? She’ll tell you it was Troyer. She knows.”
“It’s like this, Tommy: You switch and become Troyer and do all these things and don’t remember. But in some way, your mind sees Troyer doing these things as a separate person—when, in actuality, you’re watching yourself do these things as Troyer.”
“Get the fuck outta here. There’s just no way.” I start pacing back and forth and looking at my reflection in the mirror. “I don’t even look like the dude.” I stick my nose right up against the mirror and just stand there staring cross-eyed at myself looking for Troyer. And you know what? I don’t see anything but me. This lawyer is whacked out. I turn around and look right at him. “Sorry, man, but I’m not buying one bit of this.”
“I understand this is difficult, Tommy, but whether you believe it or not doesn’t matter. You see, I may have enough evidence to convince the prosecutor that this is true. And if I am able to, I can use this to plead you to a much lesser charge, maybe even get you committed to a psychiatric hospital instead of jail.”
“What? You want me to go to a loony bin? Who am I supposed to be—Jack Nicholson in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”
“It would be a hospital, Tommy, with much better accommodations than a prison cell . . . and with a good possibility that you could get out in six months or so. I think that the pills have done this to you, so when their effects have completely worn off, the doctors at the hospital will have no choice but to declare you fit for release. You will never see the inside of a prison cell, and you could be free in as little as six months.”
“But I’d have to act like I’m crazy?”
“No, just agree to allow me to plead that you are—or were—suffering from a mental disease or defect and therefore not responsible for your actions.”
“So do you think that I did all the shit that Troyer did?”
“I’m not saying anything like that, Tommy. I don’t know if you did, and apparently you don’t, either, and that is exactly what the defense is all about.”
“Hey, man, I’m so confused right now. None of this makes any sense. But there’s one thing I know, and that is I’m not crazy, and I don’t want anyone else thinking I’m crazy—especially Aurora. If she finds out about this shit, she’ll take off and I’ll never see her again.”
“Frankly, Tommy, if you go to trial with all the evidence they have against you and I’m not able to present an insanity defense, you’ll never see her again, anyway. And if they connect you to the other crimes at Gilgo Beach, you’re facing life in prison. And don’t even get me started on the charges in New Jersey. On the other hand, if I can plead this out up here, while they have no real evidence of any connection to the other bodies found at Gilgo Beach, I’ll have a lot more leverage in New Jersey. You’ll be much better off. Which would you prefer—spending the rest of your life in jail or being diagnosed as temporarily insane because of side effects from an experimental drug?”
“But what about Troyer? He’s the one who’s responsible. Shouldn’t they be looking for him?”
“Tommy, forget about Troyer for the time being and focus on you. If you don’t want to believe that Troyer is a figment of your imagination, so be it. But for purposes of this case, just accept the possibility, and let me try and work out a plea. The terms will provide for mandatory incarceration in a psychiatric hospital until they are convinced that you are sane. Once they are convinced, they must release you. That could be in as little as six months.”
“It sounds all good, but what if they try to say I really am crazy? They could keep me there forever.”
“Trust me, Tommy: I believe this is the best thing for you.”
CHAPTER 89
I’m back in my cell and still thinking about what my lawyer has just told me. At first, I can’t even sit down because I’m so wired. I pace back and forth like a madman while I try to sort through all of the shit that’s just been fed to me. I keep coming back to the mirror to stare at myself. It’s fucked up though, because the damn mirror has this crack right through it, so when I look at myself, my face is all distorted and messed up.
I try to picture me being Troyer or Troyer being me, and I just can’t see it. There’s no way I could ever do the things they say I’ve done. And no matter what that Granny Shrink says, I don’t believe what they’re saying about Troyer and me. From where I’m standing, Troyer is as real a dude as any other dude I’ve ever met. I mean, I touched him and I talked to him, I even picked up chicks with him. How could he not be real?
I lie down on this
poor excuse for a bed and focus on a spiderweb spun out in the corner of the ceiling. There’s a spider creeping slowly toward a fly caught in it. I kind of feel just like that fly. I mean, here I am, stuck in some crappy jail cell, waiting to get eaten alive, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
The spider finally reaches the fly, and that’s about when I fall asleep.
* * *
I wake up to the sound of the steel bars sliding open. That same fat-ass guard is calling out my name. The first thing I look at is the spiderweb, and you know what? The fly’s gone, and so is the spider, but the web is still there waiting for its next victim.
“Let’s go, Sullivan,” the round mound says. “You’ve got a visitor.”
“A visitor? Who?”
“I got no idea, punk. Some girl with a nose ring.”
“Aurora!” I jump up from the bed.
“Whatever. You just better get a move on. We only allow twenty minutes for a visit.”
“Sure, sure—I’m good. Let’s go.”
The guard takes me to this booth where I can only talk to Aurora on a phone, through a glass barrier. She looks so fine but worried as hell. I sit down and pick up the phone.
“Hey, gorgeous—so good to see you,” I force a smile.
“Hi, Tommy. How are you?” she looks real concerned.
“I’m okay . . . Sorry I brought you into all of my shit, though.”
“That’s okay, Tommy. I know you didn’t do what they say. I talked to your lawyer yesterday and I told him so.”
“Really—what did he say?”
“Not much, Tommy. He asked me some questions about you and Troyer, but he said he couldn’t really tell me anything more because of attorney-client privilege.”
“I see. Well, it’s pretty fucked-up, if you really wanna know.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
I have to think for a second because if I tell her what they said about me and Troyer being one and the same, she might think I’m nuts and just run for the hills. But she also may be the only one who can honestly tell me that I’m not crazy and that Troyer is a real person. I mean, the dude kidnapped her, so she’s got to know for sure.
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