Margaret Truman's Experiment in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  She answered instantly. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Dr. Sedgwick was struck by a white Buick Regal,” Breen said.

  “How dreadful,” she said. “I believe I read that some people who witnessed it said it appeared that the driver deliberately hit Dr. Sedgwick. Is that true?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we think that’s what happened,” said Owens. “What kind of car do you drive?”

  “A Mazda. It’s in the garage. Do you wish to see it?”

  “In a minute,” Owens said. “You acknowledge that you were a patient of Dr. Sedgwick.”

  “Yes. Why shouldn’t I? There’s no crime in seeing a psychiatrist.”

  Owens smiled. “Of course there isn’t,” he said. “Did you and Dr. Sedgwick … well, were you friends aside from the doctor-patient relationship?”

  She rolled her eyes up, blew out an exasperated stream of air, lowered her eyes, and fixed him in a hard stare. “Are you suggesting that—?”

  Owens held up his hand. “I’m not suggesting anything, Ms. Klaus, but we’ve been informed that you and the doctor traveled together on a few occasions.”

  “That simply is not true!” she exclaimed. “Not true. Whatever gave you that idea? Who told you such a thing?”

  “Please understand, Ms. Klaus, that it’s our job to follow up on anything and everything we’re told.”

  Tatum knew that Owens would ask Betty Martinez for more details about Sedgwick’s travels as they might have involved Sheila Klaus and have someone dig into airline records. There was nothing to be gained by pressing her about it at this juncture.

  Tatum had said nothing since they arrived. But he was keenly attuned to every word Sheila Klaus said, every gesture, the inflection in her voice, her posture, the vehemence with which she denied what Owens had suggested. It sounded to Tatum that she was being truthful, and he wondered whether the detective was barking up the wrong tree. He was aware, of course, that he was the one who’d initiated the interest in her as a possible suspect.

  “Did you and the doctor ever have a falling out?” the senior detective asked.

  She cocked her head and squinted. “No, I can’t say that we ever did. May I ask you a question, Detective?”

  “Sure.”

  “Isn’t this a violation of the doctor-patient privacy law?”

  “Not in this case, ma’am. We have a court order that gives us access to Dr. Sedgwick’s patient records. Because his death is being treated as a homicide, the judge—”

  “Homicide?” she blurted.

  “Yes, ma’am. As you read in the newspaper, it seems that whoever was driving the car deliberately struck the doctor. That’s homicide.” He hesitated before saying, “This may sound like a strange question to you, Ms. Klaus, but do you own a pair of expensive red Italian shoes?”

  “As a matter of fact I do. More than one pair.”

  He pulled a note from his pocket and read from it. “Gucci shoes?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you mind if we had a look at them?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Only take a moment,” Owens said. “We could get a warrant, but I’m sure you won’t put us to that bother.”

  “If you insist,” she said through a laugh.

  “Go with her,” Owens told Breen.

  The young detective followed her up the stairs.

  “What do you think?” Owens asked Tatum in a low voice.

  “She seems legit to me,” Tatum said.

  “To me, too,” Owens agreed.

  Sheila and Breen returned a few minutes later. Breen carried two and a half pairs of women’s red shoes.

  “Almost three pairs,” Owens muttered as he examined them. “You’re missing one.”

  Sheila laughed. “I can’t imagine where it could be,” she said. “This is so embarrassing. I have what I suppose you could call a passion for Italian shoes, particularly Gucci. And I’m fond of red. My friends sometimes kid me. They say I’m like Imelda Marcos. I hardly think that—”

  Owens took note of the size of the shoes. Six. The shoe found in the Buick was also a six. He handed the shoes to her. “Have you driven a white Buick lately?” he asked. “Maybe a friend’s car or a rental?”

  “No. The only car I drive is my Mazda. It’s red, too, like my shoes.”

  “Where were you the morning that Dr. Sedgwick was killed?”

  “That was … let me see … I … I don’t know. Here, I suppose.”

  “Anyone who can vouch for that?”

  “No. I live here alone.”

  There was silence as Breen took notes and Owens formulated his next question. Tatum maintained his watchful silence.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Owens said. “Thanks for your time. We might have further questions for you at some later date.”

  “That will be fine. I know that you’re doing your job and have to follow up on every little thing. I wish I could be of more help.”

  Before getting in the car, Owens checked the garage. The car in it was, as Ms. Klaus had said, a red Mazda. Owens also noticed tire tread marks in the driveway. “Get the camera,” he told Breen, “and grab some shots of it.”

  They headed back to the District.

  “I think she’s lying,” Breen offered.

  “Oh?” said Owens. “What makes you think that?”

  “Just a hunch.”

  “You think she’s being truthful,” Owens said to Tatum.

  Breen quickly said, “Yeah, maybe she is.”

  “I don’t know,” said Tatum. “I do know one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She’s a classic Dionysian. Did you catch her eye roll?”

  “What’s that?” Breen asked.

  “When she rolls her eyes up, her irises disappear. Nothing but white. That matches up with the HIP score in her file.”

  Breen’s expression was pure confusion.

  “That puts her at the very top of the scale,” Tatum further explained. “Only a tiny percentage of people score that high. They’re almost freakish in how suggestible and malleable they are. Of course there are other tests, but I’d be surprised if they didn’t confirm the eye roll.”

  “She says she never traveled with the doctor,” Breen offered. “You believe her?”

  Owens answered, “Next stop Sedgwick’s office to see if Ms. Martinez is still there. She says she arranged all of his trips. Let’s see if she also bought tickets for Sheila Klaus.”

  As Tatum and Owens got out of the car, Tatum looked back and suppressed a smile. Breen was looking intently into the rearview mirror and rolling up his eyes.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Betty Martinez was packing up to leave Sedgwick’s office when Owens, Tatum, and Breen walked in.

  “Don’t want to keep you,” Owens said, “but we need some information.” He asked that she check the doctor’s records to see when he and Sheila Klaus had traveled together.

  “I don’t know whether they did,” Betty said.

  Tatum said, “You told me when I was here going through his files that they had.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, eyes downcast.

  “It’s okay,” Owens said. “You’re not betraying any confidences. The court order doesn’t exclude anything specific like travel records.”

  She drew a sustaining breath and said, “Okay. I guess it’s all right.” Then, without the need to consult the files, she said, “Sheila and Dr. Sedgwick traveled together to San Francisco a few times, only Ms. Klaus didn’t use her real name.”

  “What name did she use?” Owens asked.

  “Carla Rasmussen.”

  “How did she do that?” Tatum asked. “Didn’t she need ID at the airport?”

  “I asked Dr. Sedgwick about that the first time he told me to book the flights. I mean, I always reminded him of things that he and whoever he was traveling with needed for
security. He told me that Carla Rasmussen was a medical colleague and had all the ID she needed.”

  “But you knew he was traveling with Ms. Klaus under that assumed name?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Little things. Sheila was the one who picked up the ticket for Carla Rasmussen from me for one of the trips. I remember because Dr. Sedgwick was angry that she had.”

  “Why was he mad?”

  “I suppose because he didn’t want me to know.”

  “What else led you to know that Ms. Klaus was this Carla Rasmussen?”

  “Like I said, it was little things. I mean I didn’t snoop or anything, but—”

  “But you’re sure that it was Ms. Klaus who traveled under the name Carla Rasmussen?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many trips did they take together?” Owens asked.

  “Four, I think.”

  “When did they take their first trip together?”

  She went to a file cabinet and removed a folder. “Two thousand eight,” she said after consulting a paper within the folder. “August sixteenth.”

  “Where did they go?” asked Breen.

  “San Francisco. That’s where they always went.”

  “I’d like a list of those trips,” Owens said.

  She used a photocopying machine to produce copies.

  “And she always used that name when she traveled?” Tatum asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Where did they stay when they were in San Francisco?” he asked.

  “The Hyatt on the Embarcadero.”

  After a few more questions that produced nothing in the way of additional information, the men left and got into their car.

  “Looks like the doc was cheating on his wife,” Owens commented as they drove to headquarters. “According to the records, they were divorced three years ago. That first trip occurred a year before that.”

  “Why would she use a phony name?” Breen pondered aloud.

  “Cover his tracks with his wife,” was Owens’s guess. “I know one thing. Ms. Klaus, or Ms. Rasmussen, has some explaining to do.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  Annabel Lee-Smith had spent Saturday afternoon preparing veal martini for that evening’s guests. She’d been toying with the recipe for months, never quite satisfied with the way it came out. Too many shallots or too few basil leaves? Needs more dry white wine or fewer sun-dried tomatoes? Her husband, Mackensie, thought that her previous attempts had tasted just fine, but Annabel disagreed and continued to tweak the recipe until she considered the dish perfect. That eureka moment had occurred two weeks earlier, and she now prepared the entrée brimming with confidence.

  Tatum and the woman he’d been dating recently, Cindy Simmons, were the first guests to arrive at the Smiths’ Watergate apartment. Cindy, a psychiatric nurse at Walter Reed Hospital, had met Tatum a few months ago when he’d joined a team of psychologists and psychiatrists studying new approaches to treating servicemen and -women who’d returned from Iraq and Afghanistan with post-traumatic stress disorder. Cindy was a short, solidly built thirty-year-old with a no-nonsense demeanor that Tatum found characteristic of most nurses, and to which he responded favorably. Drinks in hand, they stood with Mac Smith on the balcony and admired the view of the Potomac River and beyond.

  They were joined by the evening’s other guests, a couple who were friends of Annabel long before she’d met and fallen in love with Mac. The six of them fell into easy conversation as they enjoyed their drinks and hors d’oeuvres along with the setting sun over the spires of Georgetown University.

  After dinner—Annabel’s veal martini received unanimous praise—and back on the balcony with coffee and dessert, Mac asked whether there was anything new in the Mark Sedgwick incident. He knew of Tatum’s past association with the dead psychiatrist and that he’d become involved in the police investigation.

  After giving the other couple a thumbnail briefing of what Smith was referring to, Tatum said, “It’s being treated as a homicide. They’ve narrowed in on a suspect, a woman who’d once been his patient.”

  “Obviously a mentally unbalanced woman,” the wife said. “Only a crazy person would deliberately run someone down.”

  “And you knew him?” the husband asked.

  “Not well,” said Tatum. “I was involved in some research projects with him.”

  “This woman,” the husband said, “you say she was his patient?”

  “Yes,” Tatum confirmed. Under ordinary circumstances he would not have revealed even that much to strangers. But he’d been tipped late Friday by Owens that a reporter from the Post was researching an in-depth story on the case, aided by a leak from MPD concerning Sheila Klaus who, according to the leak, was considered a “person of interest.”

  The conversation drifted on to other subjects until the couple announced that they were calling it a night. “We’re off at the crack of dawn,” the husband explained. “Driving up to Maine to visit our daughter.”

  “Travel safe,” Mac said as he and Annabel escorted them to the elevator.

  They rejoined Tatum and Cindy on the terrace.

  “If you’re up to it, Mac,” Tatum said, “I have something to discuss with you.”

  “The night is young,” Smith said. “What’s it about?”

  “The Sedgwick killing.”

  Smith smiled. “I had a feeling that you knew more than you were willing to discuss earlier in the evening.”

  “There’re issues involved,” Tatum said. “I’ve already told Cindy about it. I’ve been working with the police on the case. They got a court order to release Sedgwick’s patient records, at least those that involved females. You might recall that bystanders said the car that hit him was driven by a blond woman. Anyway, I went through Sedgwick’s records and came up with a possible suspect. I went to interview her with a couple of detectives. You might know her, Mac. She worked at GW’s law school in admissions. Sheila Klaus.”

  Annabel drew in a deep breath. “Of course we remember her. Sheila and I became friends when she was at the university. We were in a book group together.”

  “And I remember her,” Mac said. “A nice lady. I was sorry when she left GW.”

  “She left on a disability,” Tatum said, “but I’ve never learned what that disability was.”

  “I don’t know,” Smith said.

  “At any rate,” Tatum continued, “the police have really focused in on her as a suspect in the Sedgwick murder.” He looked at both Mac and Annabel before adding, “And it was murder no matter what weapon was used. In this case it was a white Buick Regal. The police have found the car and have gone over it. When I accompanied the detectives to talk with her, she lied about certain things regarding her relationship with Sedgwick. Those lies don’t help her cause.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Smith. “Do you agree with the police that she’s the one who drove the car?”

  “Based upon the circumstantial evidence, yes. But there’s something about her that bothers me.”

  “What’s that?” Annabel asked.

  “I almost get the feeling that she believes the lies she told. I mean, there’s no doubt that she was involved with Sedgwick outside of the usual doctor-patient relationship. She denies it, but there are records that nail it down.”

  “Mind a question?” Smith said.

  “Of course not.”

  “Why are you telling us this?”

  Tatum broke into a wide grin. “Ah, the attorney’s mind at work,” he said. “Okay, here’s why I bring it up. She needs legal advice, Mac. The police haven’t formally charged her yet, but I think they’re close to it. My hunch is that she doesn’t realize the trouble she’s in and will blunder into incriminating herself.”

  “Why do you feel that way?” Annabel asked.

  Tatum held up his hands. “Let me explain,” he said. “I don’t want to come off as practicing some form of pop psychology, but I
did spend time with her, not as a patient in any formal sense but enough to form some conclusions.”

  “You checked her eye roll,” Smith said lightly.

  Tatum nodded.

  “He’s always checking eye rolls,” Cindy said lightly, too.

  “And Sheila Klaus is a Dionysian,” Annabel surmised.

  Like Mac, she’d been educated by Tatum in the HIP developed by Tatum’s onetime teacher, Herbert Spiegel. They’d spent an evening together at the apartment when Tatum had explained the theories behind Dr. Spiegel’s groundbreaking work and its importance to medicine. It was determined that night that both Annabel and Mac were Odysseans—sort of in the middle—with Annabel leaning toward Dionysian (more pliable) and Mac more Apollonian in his hardwiring (more head oriented). It was a fascinating experience that Mac and Annabel often talked about.

  Tatum continued. “There are notations in her file that indicate that Sedgwick had done a HIP on her. His findings go hand in hand with her extreme eye roll.” He paused as his mind shifted gears. “You remember that panel I was on last year sponsored by Justice that looked into false confessions, people who confessed to crimes they hadn’t committed?”

  “Sure I do,” said Mac. “I was asked to be on that panel but I couldn’t clear the time.”

  “That’s right,” Tatum said. “I forgot that you’d been asked. Anyway, I have no doubt that those people who falsely confess are high on the HIP scale. They’re suggestible and always want to please others even when it means being convicted of crimes of which they’re innocent. I think that Sheila Klaus can easily fall into that trap.”

  “Which would be a terrible miscarriage of justice,” Smith said as he refilled their coffee cups. “But why your interest in this particular case, Nic? I gather that you didn’t know Sheila before Dr. Sedgwick’s death and the MPD investigation into it.”

  Tatum shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I can’t answer that, Mac, except that there’s something about her that raises a red flag with me. She traveled to San Francisco with Sedgwick four times using an assumed name, Carla Rasmussen. It appears on the surface that Sedgwick arranged that to keep his affair with her from his wife. But that doesn’t hold water for me. What difference did it make what name she used? If his wife discovered that he’d made those four trips with another woman, the name she’d traveled under is irrelevant. Airline records confirm those trips they took together. They also indicate that she made two additional trips to San Francisco in the past few months using the same assumed name Carla Rasmussen.”