Under the Knife

by Diane Fanning

  TO NO ONE’S GREAT SURPRISE, THE ONE REPORTER WHO MANaged to get an interview with Faiello was Jeane MacIntosh. At 6 the next morning, Jeane’s phone rang. On the other end, someone spoke in rapid-fire Spanish. She shouted, “Un momento. Un momento,” then raced to Bolivar’s room. She woke him up and put him on the line.

  Jeane fidgeted as Bolivar talked to the caller. When he hung up, he told her, “They said you need to hurry over to the jail right now if you want to get in. They can’t promise that he’ll talk to you, but if you come right away, they will let you in.”

  Jeane rushed out of the hotel still wearing her pajama bottoms. She entered through the back door and was escorted to the jail’s interrogation room. Dean came in wearing a scruffy sky-blue Hawaiian shirt, a pair of flip-flops, handcuffs and a smile. “Hello, Jeane. How are you?”

  “Dean, every time I see you, you’re in handcuffs.”

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked. As always when they talked, Dean focused his eyes on her as if she were the only person of interest in the whole world. For twenty minutes, he sang Costa Rica’s praises. He told her how much he enjoyed the social scene in San Jose’s gay community and the coastal beauty of the country. “Costa Rican beaches are an unspoiled paradise. You can walk for miles and not see anyone,” he said. “And I took a lot of long walks and saw a lot of sunrises and sunsets. The sunsets here are unlike any in the world.”

  “I’ve been in San Jose the whole time, running around, looking for you,” Jeane said.

  “You should have known I was at the beach,” Dean said with a laugh.

  When Jeane asked him about Maria Cruz, his constant gaze moved from her face, and he turned his head to the side. He would not look at her until she changed the subject.

  Dean asked for a glass of milk and as he drank it, they continued to chat. “Did you dance at Pucho’s?” Jeane asked.

  “Sure, I danced at the club.”

  “Why, Dean?”

  “Because it’s fun. I love to dance. You should try it.”

  “I mean, were you hired there as a go-go dancer?”

  Dean laughed.

  “A lady at Pucho’s told me she hired you. Is that true?”

  “I love to dance, Jeane.”

  “But as a go-go dancer, Dean? You’re forty years old.”

  Dean just smiled—vanity gleamed bright in his eyes.

  She asked him about the body discovered in his Newark home and he turned away again. He said, “You’ll have to speak to my attorney about all of that.”

  He did talk openly, though, about his fear. “I’m scared to death,” he said. What frightened him the most was the possibility that he would never see his sister again. “I’m worried for myself, but more concerned about what my sister and friends are dealing with. All I can say is, send my love to my sister.”

  He spoke, too, about his surprise at being discovered so quickly by the authorities and about his lack of awareness that a search was underway. “I had no idea. I did not know until I spoke with my lawyer what was going on,” he said. “Nobody called me. Phones in Costa Rica are a luxury. I don’t watch TV.”

  “Do you have anything to say to the family of Maria Cruz?” MacIntosh asked.

  Dean stared straight ahead. The expression on his face did not waver. It remained rigid and blank. He did not utter a word.

  Officers entered the room and told Jeane her time was up. She left out a side door and snuck away to her hotel. There, she slipped out of her pajamas and donned normal work attire. She then joined the media crowd at the jail. Reporters who knew her welcomed her, asking if she’d overslept. Had she been in the jail? they asked. She avoided answering, admitting the truth only to one persistent colleague.

  BACK ON THE COAST, MAX NAVARRO AND HIS STAFF WORKED TO return the Villas Playa Samara to normal. They cleaned and prepared the three-bedroom villa for new guests. In the process, they came across an item overlooked by the police, who had searched there the day before. To their surprise, law enforcement had left behind a brown leather bag that looked like something a doctor would carry on house visits.

  Opening it, they found a Baggie full of marijuana, a half-smoked joint, glassine envelopes of heroin, boxes of Gas-X, an assortment of skin care products and a paper money wrap that contained $5,000 in $100 bills. Max turned his find over to authorities.

  DEAN FACED ARRAIGNMENT ON AN EXTRADITION WARRANT that named him as a suspect in the death of Maria Cruz without detailing any of the precise charges against him. After this hearing, Dean was moved to the regular jail on Avenida Primera—First Avenue. His new home was a rundown, overcrowded prison built for a maximum occupancy of 2,000, but now crawling with significantly more.

  He moved into a cell with thirty-four other inmates, where he would remain, at least until New York authorities formalized the charges against him. The clock was ticking—New York had sixty days to deliver.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  AS SOON AS PATTY ROSADO HEARD OF DEAN’S ARREST, SHE called the offices of legendary defense attorney Johnnie Cochran. He’d become a household name in 1994 when football hero O. J. Simpson, charged with the murder of his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her acquaintance Ron Goldman, hired Cochran to defend him. Cochran and the Dream Team succeeded in keeping O.J. out of jail.

  If Cochran could get a not guilty verdict for Simpson, Patty figured, surely he could do the same for Dean. Then she learned that the first one-hour consultation with the esteemed attorney required a $10,000 payment up front. She begged off.

  IN THE AFTERMATH OF DEAN’S ARREST, MORE THAN A FEW people paid for their roles in helping him follow his road to perdition. The Office of Professional Discipline at the state department of education turned over to the department of health a list of doctors they suspected of enabling Dean’s medical practice. Investigators in the health department sought to determine if any of them had provided Dean with prescriptions or pharmaceuticals.

  Some suffered through the hassle of an inquiry, coming out the other side unscathed. Two physicians, however, took a fall for their ethical compromises in aiding Dean Faiello.

  The New York State Office of Professional Medical Conduct charged Andrew Reyner, M.D., a psychiatrist specializing in psychopharmacology, with forty-five specifications of medical misconduct. Between February of 1998 and November of 2001, he prescribed and provided bulk quantities of Stadol; antibiotics erythromycin and aveloz; temazepam, a sedative hypnotic used to relieve insomnia; the anti-depressant BuSpar; the anti-anxiety drug Ativan; and the erectile dysfunction drug Viagra to Dean Faiello without obtaining adequate medical history, performing a physical examination or making a diagnosis. He did this, they charged, knowing that Faiello had a history of substance abuse and dependence, and a record for forging prescriptions.

  The board cited Reyner for prescribing drugs to fourteen of Dean’s customers, again without examination or diagnosis. They claimed he’d told investigators in November 2003 that he was with Faiello at a conference in Reno, Nevada, when he prescribed Stadol for him—then, in March 2004, told them that he was not with Dean in Reno. The Office of Professional Medical Conduct did not know which version was true, but they knew that he’d lied on one of the two occasions.

  In November 2004, after more than eighteen years of practicing medicine in the state of New York, Andrew Reyner signed a consent agreement allowing authorities to suspend his license for four years. He now had to close his medical practice. Within fifteen days of the December 20 effective date, he would need to notify all of his active patients in writing of his suspension and provide referrals to another physician.

  He had to inform the Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) of his loss of license and turn over the DEA certificate that allowed him to prescribe controlled substances. He had to return any unused prescription forms to the Bureau of Controlled Substances at the New York Health Department. Reyner could not accept any money for professional services or consultations and could not occupy space in any office w
here someone with a medical license provided health care services.

  If he violated any of these provisions, he would be subject to civil and criminal penalties. In December 2008, he would be eligible for his license, but only if he could demonstrate to the Committee of Professional Conduct that he was fit and competent to practice medicine. To do that, he needed to pass a clinical competency assessment, and enroll in a course of personalized continuing medical education and in another program on ethics.

  Once Reyner fulfilled those requirements, he would have his license returned, but would face an eight-year probationary period under the supervision of a monitoring physician. His license, however, would be permanently limited. Andrew Reyner could never prescribe medications to any patient in New York again.

  In 2006, Andrew Reyner worked as a clinical instructor of psychiatry at the Mount Sinai School of Medicine.

  THE NEXT TO FALL WAS MICHAEL JACKOWITZ, D.O., THE ONE-time house physician for the New York City Ballet and the Metropolitan Opera, and another designated medical director for SkinOvations. This doctor of osteopathy was a member of Physician Volunteers for the Arts in Manhattan. He also was active in the theater itself, having graduated from the Commercial Theater Institute in 1996.

  In 1997 he formed MJM Productions with Josephine Abrady and Marvin Kahan and produced off-Broadway and regional shows, including Nicky Silver’s The Food Chain at the Westside Theatre. He was also involved in the Broadway production of Flower Drum Song and Sarah Jones’ one-woman show, bridge & tunnel, produced by Meryl Streep.

  By the time New York authorities came knocking, Jackowitz no longer resided in New York. He had moved to Santa Barbara, California, and immersed himself in theater there. When they caught up with him, he was preparing for a production of tick . . . tick . . . BOOM! scheduled to open as the first performance in the 2005–2006 season of the Rubicon Theatre, a non-profit regional theater in the Downtown Cultural District of Ventura.

  Officials charged Jackowitz with prescribing Viagra and the sleeping aid Sonata to Dean Faiello between June 2001 and August 2002. Additionally, they claimed he had written prescriptions for Stadol, Ativan, the antibiotic doxycycline and Vioxx—a drug for the treatment of osteoarthritis—for twenty-five of Dean’s clients without performing a physical examination or even informing the patients that prescriptions had been issued in their names.

  The accusations continued, stating that Jackowitz knew Dean would use some of these drugs in the performance of laser hair removal, laser face resurfacing, mole removal, spider vein removal, tattoo removal and scar revision, without the adequate supervision of a physician.

  They alleged that Jackowitz also gave signed prescription pads to Dean Faiello with the patient name and drug name left blank for Dean to fill out as he pleased. They had proof that he accepted money from Dean in return for his services and for serving as the nominal medical director of SkinOvations.

  The state Office of Professional Medical Conduct ruled that Jackowitz was guilty of negligence and gross negligence, incompetence and gross incompetence, aiding and abetting an unlicensed person, fraud and moral unfitness to practice medicine. In January 2005, he signed a consent agreement, accepting a one-year suspension of his medical license and a three-year probationary period after regaining it. The terms of his suspension and probation were the same as those imposed on Andrew Reyner with one exception. When Jackowitz reclaimed his license, he would be able to get a DEA certificate and resume writing prescriptions.

  He submitted an application for an osteopathic Physicians and Surgeons Certificate in July 2004, to the Osteopathic Medical Board of California. He swore to the truthfulness of all the statements he made in the document, but the reviewing body suspected he was not completely open or honest. After an investigation, the board denied Jackowitz a license to practice, based on the disciplinary action taken in New York. They also billed him for the costs of their investigation.

  In the summer of 2006, Michael Jackowitz was in California involved in a number of television and theater projects. He’d begun work on his most ambitious project to date—the development of a world premiere opera by award-winning composer Stephen Schwartz, planned to open for Opera Santa Barbara in 2009.

  LAW ENFORCEMENT IN TWO STATES FOCUSED IN ON DEAN’S sister, Debra. One of Dean’s Newark neighbors told police that Debra and Patty removed Dean’s patient files and a bag of possessions from his room at Mark Ritchey’s place. It was reported that the bag contained Maria’s identification, keys and credit cards.

  They knew Debra picked up Dean’s Jeep Cherokee from the New Jersey impound lot—the same SUV Dean used to transport Maria’s body from Manhattan to Newark. They knew she went by Ritchey’s place and got the title to the vehicle and transferred the ownership into her name. The question was, had she done anything with the intention of covering Dean’s tracks?

  The New Jersey State Police department of Internal Affairs began an investigation. One of the people they called was Jeane MacIntosh. They wanted to know where she got information about Dean’s Jeep, the electronic money transfer and anything else connected to Debra Faiello for her published stories. “My source contacted another reporter,” she said. “Brad Hamilton received the phone call . . . I cannot reveal another reporter’s sources.”

  Internal Affairs contacted Brad, but he disappointed them, too. He refused to divulge his source. A spokesman for the New Jersey Police Department assured the media that Sergeant Faiello was cooperating with the investigation in every way she could.

  Many observers of the department were skeptical. Suspicion that the troopers were once again protecting one of their own ran rampant. At the end of 1999, the United States Justice Department determined that a monitor needed to be appointed by a federal judge to provide oversight of the New Jersey Police Department, after discrimination and racial profiling were found to be pervasive. Federal authorities also accorded the monitor the responsibility of overseeing a dramatic reorganization in the Internal Affairs office, inspired by a long history of accusations of cronyism and cover-up.

  The monitor could demand a reinvestigation if the findings or techniques employed in an Internal Affairs investigation appeared at all suspicious. Many—including attorney Tom Shanahan—thought the feds should investigate the conduct of the police in their probe into Debra Faiello’s actions.

  The New Jersey police were not sharing their findings with the media, and appeared disinterested in disciplining Debra. The district attorney’s office in Manhattan, though, had serious concerns about her involvement in her brother’s case. They launched a criminal investigation of their own.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  IF ONE OF DEAN’S INNER CIRCLE HAD NOT STEPPED FORWARD with an essential bit of information, authorities would not have known to look in Newark, and the body of Maria Cruz might still be under that slab of concrete in the carriage house. A lot of people possessed a small piece of the puzzle of Maria’s disappearance, but it was Greg who made the initial contact with Investigator Ford in the attorney general’s office. Without his honesty, Maria’s family still might not know what happened to their beloved Ate Pipay. The answers they now had were dreadful and tragic; but at least the family no longer faced the anguish of not knowing.

  Greg knew that he did not speak up to authorities out of malice toward Dean. He’d acted because it was the right thing to do. Still, the tabloid press labeled him as a vindictive ex-lover, a vengeful paramour and worse. Their descriptions saddened Greg, but his concern about that matter paled in comparison to his distress over the growing skepticism of the authorities. In a meeting with Detective Della Rocca and Assistant District Attorney Ann Prunty, it demonstrated itself.

  Records from the telephone in his apartment were slapped on the table. Della Rocca pointed to a number of calls made to drug dealers who provided a home delivery service. Greg was furious that Dean used his phone to call dealers, and further outraged that he had illegal drugs delivered to Greg’s home. He told Della Rocc
a and Prunty just that. They, however, accused him of being involved in drugs, too.

  Della Rocca pointed out in his phone records the night Maria died, “You called Patty Rosado that night.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. You talked to her for fifteen minutes.”

  Greg saw the proof before his eyes, but he certainly did not remember the call.

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything special that night. It was just an ordinary evening.”

  A look of disgust crossed Della Rocca’s face, his disbelief apparent. Then the detective pointed to the call Greg made right after talking to Patty. “What did you talk to this guy about?”

  “I don’t recall. He’s my best friend. We talked. I don’t remember the conversation. As I said, it was not a memorable night for me.”

  “There’s another thing that bothers me, Bach. We have the phone records from Carl James’ apartment. There was no call from there to Martin Mannert that night.”

  “There wasn’t?”

  “No. Why would someone in a trauma situation call their accountant, anyway?” Della Rocca asked.

  “I don’t know. I just know what Martin told me.”

  “Would you call an accountant if somebody was dying?”

  Greg did not answer. He did not know what to say.

  Then they questioned Greg about the first call he made the morning after Maria’s death. “That’s a lawyer’s office. Why did you call your attorney that morning, Mr. Bach?”

  “That’s the lawyer who wrote up the promissory note regarding the money Dean owed me. I called him for advice about that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “You called him that morning about money?” Skepticism put an ugly edge on Della Rocca’s voice.