The system serves a myriad of S.S.S, purposes, one of which is to ensure that my patients think twice before categorizing a situation as an emergency.
Monday, at almost 3:30, my pager vibrated. I was in the process of concluding a session that had started at 2:45, so I waited a few minutes until my patient was out the door before I checked my beeper. The screen read an unfamiliar number. I tried my voice mail to look for a corresponding message that might explain the emergency. There wasn't one.
I picked up the phone and punched in the number on my pager screen. After half a ring a voice said, "Yes."
"This is Dr. Gregory. I'm returning a page to this number."
"Hi, it's me."
With those words, Satoshi Hamamoto let me know she had indeed decided to come to Boulder.
"Satoshi? You're in town?"
"I drove straight through. I'm so tired I'm shaking. But I'm all right. I decided I wanted to help. Did you keep your promise about… not telling my story?"
"Pretty much. My wife is part of Locard, so she knows what you told me. And to get you someplace to stay I had to tell the person I described to you the last time you called. Besides the two of them, yes, I kept my promise. I don't feel I have much choice. If I talk about the rape, you'll deny whatever I say, right?"
"Sorry. Right."
"How does my friend get in touch with you?"
"Does your friend have a pager?"
"Yes"
"I'll take that number."
I gave it to her.
"Would you please tell your friend to expect a call."
"He already does. And I'll get the money to him. I have eighteen hundred so far.
More is available."
I heard her yawn.
"That's probably enough for now, thanks. It's just a net; I'm not planning on needing it."
"Anything else I can do?"
She didn't answer my question. Instead, she said, "I hardly know you, yet I'm trusting you. That's not like me." She made it sound almost like an accusation.
"I know. And I'm doing my best to deserve it. There's another side to this, though. I'm trusting you, too."
She laughed.
"Funny, I hadn't thought about that. Yes, you are. That's good. I like that."
"Satoshi, do you really think Joey is sending somebody after you?"
"No. From what I've been able to learn about him over the Internet, I don't think he has the balls. I'm sure he has money people-agents, managers, people like that who are living off of him. They're more likely to come after me than he is."
"It could be one of his sponsors."
"What do you mean 'sponsors'?" I explained about the financial relationship between sponsors and young touring golf pros.
"I didn't know about that part of the business. So these sponsors have a lot to lose if Joeys career tanks?"
"Absolutely. They might even have more to lose than Joey does."
"You have their names?"
"No"
"Shouldn't be hard to find out. I'll look into it. I have some other ideas, too.
Some long shots. I've done nothing but think about this all night long. Do you have any idea how much empty space there is between San Francisco and Denver?"
Sam paged me a few minutes after six. I was packing up to go home for the day.
He said, "She's sleeping. She's safe. Neat kid. I like her. You? You're lucky I like her."
"Thank God. I've been worried. Where is she?"
"Just in case she has a reason to be worried, I don't think I should tell you that. Certainly not over the phone. Know what I mean?"
"Yes. I'm sorry I asked. I'm not used to this." I sighed.
"At least Sa-she's. safe. Listen, I need to get you that money. Should I drop it by the police department?"
"I don't think that's the best idea. Here's what we'll do instead."
I hadn't seen Sherry, Sam's wife, for months. She looked harried when, twenty minutes later, I walked in the door to her flower shop on the west end of Pearl Street, only a few blocks from my office.
I embraced her and commented that she was staying open late on a Monday evening.
"Spousal request. You know about those? It's been a hell of a day. My employee had an emergency root canal this morning so I've been by myself since eleven.
Anybody ever tries to tell you that retail's a fun way to make a living, don't believe them. Listen, you have something to give me for Sammy? I'm sorry to be so rushed with you, but I have to run and get Simon at child care. I'm already so late they're going to scream." She tapped her watch.
I handed Sherry the envelope. She stuffed it into her shoulder bag and offered me a bouquet of lilies to give to Lauren.
"Sam insisted," she said. I was about to say it wasn't necessary when I realized that Sam probably didn't want me to be observed leaving the shop empty-handed. I thanked Sherry for the flowers and stayed at her side while she locked the door.
Traffic was a bitch going home. Every decision I made was the wrong one.
Broadway was gridlocked by a car-bike accident on the Hill. The left turn signal at Table Mesa was short cycling. An old Mercedes in front of me on South Boulder Road was belching enough diesel exhaust to choke a herd of bison.
I knew I should have taken Ninth to Baseline and cut across on Fifty-fifth. I just knew it.
Lauren had been concerned about my late arrival home. She expressed her concern verbally when I walked in the door, yet the whole time her eyes were darting between my hands and my face. Her expression clearly communicated her disappointment that I'd apparently forgotten to bring home the spinach pizza I'd promised her for dinner.
I looked down at my hands, too. As though it were their fault. I said, "I'm so sorry." She said, "That's all right." She didn't mean it.
"I'll take you out, okay? We'll go someplace nearby."
"There's no place good that's nearby." She was coming perilously close to pouting.
"Then I'll go back out. I'll get the pizza you want. The one I promised. You were really looking forward to it."
"That's silly. You'd have to go back downtown. I don't know, maybe
I'll just fix something here. Open a can of soup." Even a dolt would know that she didn't really want to eat canned soup.
"I'll make you an omelette. Tarragon? You like those."
"I don't know if I want an omelette." She didn't.
It appeared that she wasn't predisposed to let me off the hook easily. I tried a different tack.
"Satoshi's in town."
"No!"
Despite a horrendous serve, the point was mine.
I made her an omelette with spinach and tarragon and gave her a foot massage for dessert.
Lauren complained of fatigue shortly after eating and carried a book with her to bed. I plugged her laptop into an outlet near the couch in the living room so I could review all my notes about the two dead girls. I had a nagging feeling that I was missing something important about the case.
Whatever it was that I might be missing wasn't apparent after forty-five minutes of looking. I could find only one item that had remained unaccomplished: I'd promised myself that I would make contact with the high school teachers whose names I had culled from the TV news stories that had been broadcast after the girls disappeared.
I checked the time: 9:15. Not too late to make a phone call-especially to a graduate student. I punched in Kevin Sample's number in Fort Collins. He sounded pleased to hear from me.
"I was going to call you tomorrow or the next day," he said.
"About that thing with my uncle Larry."
I drew a blank. What thing with his uncle Larry? Oh yeah, the release so that Kevin could talk to Raymond Welle about Brian Sample's psychotherapy. I had hoped Kevin had forgotten about it.
I stammered, "So your uncle agreed to write the letter?"
"Not exactly. He's still protective of me. He said he'd do it but he wants someone else to screen the information first-you know, he didn't want me to be the
one to hear things about my dad directly from Dr. Welle. So he wrote a letter that authorizes you to talk to Dr. Welle about my dad. And he wrote you a letter saying it's okay for you to talk to me about whatever you think is relevant. I hope that covers everything and that it's all right with you."
If I agreed, I would have to schedule yet another meeting with Ray
Welle to talk about one of his patients. This particular patient happened to be the one who had executed Welle's wife. I thought I'd rather schedule a sigmoidoscopy. I said, "Sure, I guessum Kevin. I'll do that. I mean, I'll consult with Dr. Welle. When he and I can fit it in."
"Thanks. I told my uncle I thought you would. He's already sent the letter to Dr. Welle. I'll have him send you copies. But you called me. Now what can I do for you after I've monopolized the whole darn conversation?" I explained that I wanted to talk with some faculty at the high school who might have known Tami and Miko and ran the names I'd gleaned from the video footage by him. Did he remember any of them? After tossing the names back and forth for a minute, he suggested I start with two: Stuart Bird, the former principal, and Ellen Left, who had taught English at the high school. Before I hung up, I nonchalantly inquired whether Kevin knew Mariko's little sister, Satoshi.
If it was possible to blush over the phone, Kevin managed. He said, "Yes, yes.
She was… around some. She was a couple of years younger than us, I think.
Maybe-what?-three? I'm not sure. She liked to run. I did, too."
"Have you stayed in touch with her over the years? Know what happened to her after…?"
"Her family left Steamboat right around the same time we did, which was 1990 or so. I tried to… you know, help her… after her sister was… killed, because… I'd been through kind of the same thing. But… she wasn't that interested."
I prodded, but couldn't get him to say anything more.
"You must have been able to be a support for Joey Franklin as well. I mean for the same reason." "No," he said.
"I wasn't much help to Joey."
I couldn't track down a number for Stuart Bird through directory assistance, but Ellen Left answered her phone on the first ring.
As obtusely as I could, I explained my role in the investigation of Tami and Mariko's murder and asked if I might pose a few questions.
Ellen seemed thrilled at the prospect. She said, "Let me turn down the tube.
I'm ready and waiting."
Ellen liked to chat. It took me almost thirty minutes to confirm that she wasn't going to tell me anything that might shake my existing portrait of Tami Franklin. She acknowledged that she didn't know Mariko well. Her apology about that ran for well over a minute.
I thanked her for her time.
She said, "Oh, you don't have to thank me. I still pray for those two girls every Sunday. Worst thing I ever saw in this town. We had those murders and then we had what happened to Gloria Welle-Lord, Lord. And then there was that skiing accident with Doak Walker? Such a nice, nice man. Awful! But Tami and Mariko.
That was the worst. Absolutely.
"And still you know it's funny-ironic funny-how things turned out. I mean how crucial those two Franklin kids have been to this town. Tami's murderer is still running loose out there-and I swear her death is like a wound that won't heal for anybody. And now the whole world seems to be in love with our little Joey. I would have guessed it was going to be the other way around. That Tami would be Steamboat's angel. And Joey would be the one causing us to pull out our hair.
And it's not just me who'd think that way, everybody would have guessed it wrong."
I woke up. I sat up.
"Really, Ellen?" I didn't have to put any effort into sounding surprised.
"What do you mean?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why would you have expected that Joey would have everyone pulling out their hair?"
"My good friend, Jackie Crandall? She taught Joey history in junior high.
Always thought he was a dark one. In fact, she's the one whose idea it was to send him to Dr. Welle for professional help. And now look what Joey's accomplished. I swear that Ray Welle worked miracles with him. He truly did. I was sure that Franklin boy was heading for serious trouble."
"What did your friend mean by that? By calling Joey 'dark'? Why did she refer him for therapy?"
She tsked me.
"Are we just gossiping now. Dr. Gregory? I don't mind talking during recess, but I don't want to-"
"Believe me, Ellen, this is important. I have no reason to gossip with you. I'm trying to know Tami's whole… family."
She lowered her voice to a whisper. I had to strain to hear her.
"For
Tackie, that incident in the girls' bathroom did it. That was the last straw."
I waited for her to go on. She didn't. I said, "The one where, uh-"
"He and the Lopes boy drilled that hole in the wall so they could watch the girls doing their business. That one, mmm-hmm. Doesn't get much sicker than that, does it?"
Her question was rhetorical. I didn't contradict her.
I hit myself so hard on the forehead with the heel of my hand that I startled myself into yelling, "Ouch!"
Lauren called from the bedroom.
"Are you okay?"
I yelled back that I was fine. I couldn't believe it. Of course. It wasn't Tami Franklin or Cathy Franklin who had been in therapy with Ray Welle. It was Joey Franklin.
That's why Ray Welle had looked so smug while he was denying to me that he ever treated Tami or Cathy. And that's yet another reason why Ray Welle refused to see Satoshi for psychotherapy after she accused Joey of raping her.
My mental to-do list grew a little longer. I wanted to try to discover the dates of Joey's treatment with Welle. I wondered if Welle was still treating Joey when he raped Satoshi.
I'd often wondered what it would be like to be a psychotherapist in a small town like Steamboat Springs. Even in a town the size of Boulder, with over 100,000 people, lives sometimes overlapped so that the boundaries between patients' histories became blurred. In a smaller town like Steamboat, the lines would inevitably intersect like the cross-stitched threads in a piece of fabric.
Patient A would talk about patient B, who would be dating patient C, whose father would be patient As accountant, or the therapist's own golfing buddy.
And the psychologist would be alone in the middle of the mesh, entrusted with the responsibility to keep everyone's secrets from everyone else. And entrusted with the mandate not to allow what he or she might learn from one patient to influence how another is treated.
I found myself getting a headache as I tried to imagine the complications that would ensue for the small-town psychologist if patient A wasn't just talking about patient B. What if patient A was guilty of raping her?
I made a logical leap that seemed reasonable. I concluded that Raymond Welle's treatment of Joey Franklin was either ongoing or had recently been terminated when Mariko took Satoshi to see Welle after the rape. I then decided that it didn't make any difference which version was true.
In Welle's circumstances-with Satoshi literally on his doorstep accusing one of his patients, or recent ex-patients, of rape-what would I do? What ethical and legal obligations would I have as a psychologist?
Like Welle, I probably would have refused to offer Satoshi any ongoing therapeutic intervention after the emergency visit. The number of potential conflicts that would be inherent in simultaneously treating a possible rapist and his accuser was too astronomical for me to calculate. But, unlike Welle, I would have encouraged Satoshi to seek other help. At the very least, a physician should have promptly examined her. Pregnancy was an obvious concern.
Sexually transmitted disease had to be considered. And I would have referred Satoshi to a colleague for further psychological evaluation and, if necessary, treatment for the psychological consequences of the assault.
The legal issues Welle confronted were less murky than the ethical ones. Welle couldn't div
ulge the information he had learned from Satoshi to anyone else without her permission unless Satoshi had threatened future retribution against Joey. That was Colorado law. Without threat of future harm to some individual, Welle was sworn to maintain Satoshi's confidentiality. So Welle had been under no legal mandate to report Joey's crime to anyone.
I also considered whether Welle could have used the child-abuse exception to doctor-patient privilege to divulge the rape to the police. If Welle reasonably suspected that Satoshi had been the victim of child abuse, he was obligated to report it to authorities, confidentiality be damned. The problem with that argument was that at the time of the rape Joey Franklin was-legally, at least-a child, too. The age difference between him and Satoshi was not great enough to permit the act of sex between them to be classified either as statutory rape or as child abuse.
I tried to guess what Welle's motives might have been for not referring Satoshi to either a physician or another psychologist. It was difficult to imagine that he had concluded that such a referral wasn't warranted. By her own report, penetration had occurred during the rape, so a physical examination should have been proforma. Satoshi also admitted being quite traumatized emotionally. So why would Welle not refer her on for further assessment or treatment? The most cogent explanation I could come up with was that he wished to contain the circle of people who were aware that the rape had occurred. Perhaps Welle didn't want his colleagues in town to become aware that Joey Franklin had been accused of rape. Or perhaps he didn't want his colleagues to know that he was treating an accused rapist.
The possibility also existed that Joey had revealed his intentions about assaulting Satoshi while in psychotherapy with Welle. If that had occurred, Welle's failure to alert the police or to warn Satoshi would make him legally vulnerable.
Was Welle protecting Joey? Was he protecting himself? Was he protecting someone else?
I didn't know answers to any of the questions. And I doubted that Ray Welle would be inclined to enlighten me.
The events themselves felt jumbled. I pecked out a chronology on the laptop in an attempt to order them. I wrote:
Sometime prior to the autumn of '1988, Raymond Welle began treating joey Franklin in psychotherapy after an incident where Joey was accused of voyeurism in a girls' bathroom at his middle school. Had there been other incidents involving joey? It appears likely.
Cold Case Page 25
