Margaret Truman's Experiment in Murder

by Margaret Truman

  Now he could.

  He and Landow met at noon at a predetermined bench in the Washington Harbour area of Georgetown. Considine didn’t waste time relating to Landow every detail of what Nic Tatum had told him about Sheila Klaus and Tatum’s hypnotic sessions with her. Landow listened impassively, his eyes taking in his surroundings, his ears hearing only what Considine had to say.

  When the tall, bald psychiatrist, who wore that day a gray running suit and white sneakers, was finished, Landow patted his arm and said, “This is all fascinating, David. Of course the part about this Ms. Klaus having been programmed at Lightpath to kill Mark Sedgwick is pure science fiction. As you know, Sheldon Borger and his people aren’t engaged in creating murderers, or I suppose I should say murderesses.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m also aware that Mark had brought an excellent hypnotic subject, a woman, to Lightpath. What’s of concern is that the excellent work they did with her could be jeopardized by Nicholas Tatum’s probing. Tatum is good at what he does.”

  Considine silently agreed. He’d worked with Tatum and had observed how skillful his friend was in inducing trance in patients, particularly after returning from New York where he’d studied with Herbert Spiegel.

  “Do you want me to spend time again with Tatum to see if I can find out more?” Considine asked.

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” Landow said. “Don’t push him for information. We don’t want to scare him off. But you’re obviously good at gaining trust. I’m not sure what steps we’ll take based upon what you’ve told me, but I assure you that we’ll do what’s necessary. Are things good where you’re teaching?”

  “It’s boring,” was Considine’s response.

  Landow laughed. “Maybe you should consider coming back to work for me.”

  “Is that an option?”

  “Of course it is. As Uncle Sam says, we’re always looking for good men. Thank you for bringing this to me.” Landow stood and looked up into the sunny blue sky. “It’s a lovely day, David. Enjoy it.”

  CHAPTER

  24

  Tatum was in the courtroom the next morning when Sheila, accompanied by her attorney, Marie Darrow, arrived for the arraignment. Darrow pleaded not guilty for her, and her request for bail was denied.

  Tatum was shocked at Sheila’s physical appearance. She looked as though she hadn’t slept for days. She walked unsteadily and almost fell as she entered, the matron grabbing her and keeping her erect. Her hair needed washing; her makeup, what there as of it, was smudged, giving her an almost comical look, a poorly crafted marionette. The prison garb that she wore swam on her, adding to the impression of a woman on the edge.

  Tatum and Darrow connected in the hallway after Sheila had been led away.

  “We finally get to meet,” the attorney said.

  “Mac Smith thinks very highly of you,” Tatum said.

  “Which means a lot coming from him. The problem is that the best damn attorney in D.C. is going to have one hell of a job getting her off.”

  “Lots of circumstantial evidence to deal with,” Tatum offered.

  “Her lying about traveling with the victim hasn’t done her any favors. I’m meeting with the U.S. attorney this afternoon to see if I can strike some sort of an agreement.”

  Tatum’s expression mirrored his surprise. “Isn’t that premature?” he asked.

  “Premature?”

  “It just seems to me that cutting a deal with the prosecution means she’ll be found guilty, with some slack cut for her sentencing.”

  Darrow sounded annoyed as she said, “I wasn’t referring to plea-bargaining. I’ve reviewed all the evidence and believe there’s a possibility that I could get the charges dropped—at least for now.”

  “You really think that’s possible?” Tatum said, his voice reflecting his pleasure at hearing it.

  “A long shot,” Darrow said, “but worth a shot. I’ve discussed it with Mac.”

  “What does he think?”

  “He said to go ahead. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to depend upon you and your pseudoscience.”

  “Pseudoscience?” Tatum said. “That’s the way you view my theory about how and why she killed Dr. Sedgwick?”

  Darrow realized that she’d offended him and manufactured a small smile to soften things. “I’ll level with you,” she said. “I’ve gone back and reviewed cases in which mind control and multiple personalities were offered as a defense. The results weren’t what you’d call encouraging.”

  “Which doesn’t mean it’s not relevant in Sheila’s case,” he offered, trying to keep pique from his voice. “Look,” he said, “I’m obviously not a lawyer. The way the courts work isn’t something I know a lot about. But I do know that Sheila Klaus was programmed to run down Sedgwick.”

  “Prove it!”

  “I … I can’t, but I’m determined to break through the controls that were put on her and get to the truth.”

  “I wish you well, Mr. Tatum.”

  “Doctor Tatum.”

  “Doctor Tatum,” she said. “You’ll excuse me. I’m late for an appointment.”

  He watched her walk down the corridor and disappear around a corner. Her comments had nettled him, and he drew some calming breaths. Her negativity was unsettling. Still, he told himself, he couldn’t blame her. She operated in a world far different from his. Her world was one of hard facts and a tightly prescribed system. He was dealing with the mind, trying to make a case that it was possible, even probable with certain subjects, to manipulate them to do the bidding of others, even to kill.

  Their brief exchange had left him with the realization that if he were to succeed in proving his theory, he’d better do it fast.

  * * *

  He met with Sheila that afternoon. Smith had told him that the authorities were beginning to protest the frequency of Tatum’s “psychological evaluations” of Sheila, but he’d convinced them that it was necessary, and that to limit access would unfairly hinder his efforts to mount a credible defense. They backed off.

  Tatum wasn’t eager to proceed with Sheila, considering the shape that she was in. Fatigued subjects were sometimes difficult to work with; exhaustion got in the way of being able to focus. But after some initial expressions of concern for her, he induced her trance state.

  “Where are you now?” he asked after ascertaining that her trance was deep.

  “I don’t feel good,” she replied. “I want to die.”

  “No you don’t, Sheila,” he said. “You have Carla to help you.”

  “Carla,” she said in a dreamy voice. “Yes, she helps me.”

  “She goes wherever you go,” he said.

  “Yes.” A little girl’s laugh came from her.

  “Do you remember when she made all those trips with you to San Francisco?”

  A look of concern crossed her face.

  “You went to San Francisco with Dr. Sedgwick.”

  “Oh, him,” she said dismissively. “He was a fool.”

  “He was?”

  “A stupid fool.”

  “But he was your doctor, wasn’t he? And he took you to see other doctors in San Francisco.”

  When she didn’t respond, he added, “You saw Dr. Borger. He gave you vitamin B shots. Remember?”

  Now anger replaced concern in her expression.

  “Carla didn’t like the shots, did she?”

  “No, no, I didn’t like them. They hurt.”

  Tatum thought for a moment before saying, “I’m going to give you a shot now, Sheila.”

  She straightened in her chair and waved her hands in front of her.

  “Is Carla with you?” he asked. “Maybe she can convince me to not give you the shot.”

  “Carla is … of course she’s with me.”

  “Are you there, Carla? Why haven’t you said hello?”

  The change in Sheila was slower and more gradual than it had been during previous sessions. Sheila’s face tightened and her li
ps formed into a sneer. A low, guttural laugh erupted from deep inside.

  “Hello, Carla,” Tatum said.

  She laughed.

  “You are Carla, aren’t you?”

  “You didn’t say the magic word,” she said, elongating the final two words.

  “Oh? What word was that?”

  “You know.”

  “Maybe I forgot.”

  “You know, about taking a cruise.”

  “Did you take a cruise?”

  “No,” she snapped. “What are you, some sort of dumb bunny? You know what it means.”

  Tatum tried various questions to get her to elaborate but was unsuccessful. Realizing that he was losing her, he decided to be direct.

  “You drove the car that killed Dr. Sedgwick, didn’t you, Carla?”

  She seemed confused for a moment before saying, “You know I did. You told me to do it.”

  “I told you? You mean Dr. Borger.”

  “You. That’s you, isn’t it?”

  She shook her head and mumbled something about him being stupid. And she was gone, replaced by Sheila, whom Tatum quickly brought out of her trance.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m so tired.”

  “You should rest. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

  He quickly wrote on a pad the words he’d just heard:

  I asked whether Carla had driven the car that killed Mark Sedgwick.

  She responded: “You know I did. You told me to do it.”

  I said: “I told you? Dr. Borger?”

  She said: “You. That’s you, isn’t it?”

  She disappeared and I brought Sheila out of the trance.

  He was eager to report what had just transpired to Mac Smith and called him at his Watergate apartment. A machine informed him that Smith was away and would return the call as soon as possible. Tatum left his name and his cell phone number and drove home. He’d been there only fifteen minutes when his cell phone rang.

  “It’s Mac Smith.”

  “Hello, Mac. Thanks for getting back to me so soon. Listen to this.” He read for Smith what he’d written on the pad.

  “She said that?”

  “Carla said it. She also mentioned some magic word that had to do with taking a cruise.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know. It might have been a word or words that Borger used to put her into trance.”

  “I don’t suppose you had a tape recorder running.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She said it under hypnosis.”

  “Which doesn’t make it less believable.”

  “Tell that to a judge and a jury. I don’t mean to minimize the importance of it, Nic. Frankly, my mind has been spinning for the past hour.”

  “With what?

  “The news that Marie Darrow just received. She met with the U.S. attorney earlier in the afternoon to see whether his office was secure in thinking they had probable cause with which to hold Sheila. It’s Marie’s opinion that the evidence simply doesn’t rise to that level.”

  “You’re not about to tell me that they agreed with her.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. An hour after she met with the U.S. attorney, he called her to say that they’ve decided to drop formal charges against Sheila, at least until further evidence can be gathered.”

  “That’s great news,” Tatum said.

  “Yes, it is,” Smith agreed. “The real question is: why?”

  “Lack of evidence, as you said. Not enough for probable cause.”

  “I’d like to think it’s that simple, Nic, but something tells me there’s more behind it.”

  CHAPTER

  25

  The judge in Sheila Klaus’s case had erupted in anger when informed by the U.S. attorney’s office that it was dropping charges against her. He ripped into the attorneys for having proceeded with the case without having sufficient evidence to show probable cause.

  “You’ve dragged this woman through the system without the goods to make the charges stick, and now you decide that you were premature. You rushed to judgment, and as a result a citizen has been subjected to incarceration and loss of dignity. I suggest that you get your act together and never—and I mean never—use this court again in such an unprofessional manner.”

  The attorneys who stood before the judge were not the ones who’d decided to drop the charges, but they took the tongue-lashing in stride. The order had come from the very top echelons of their office, a terse command that left little room for debate. One of the attorneys directly involved in the case had argued against the dictum but was rebuffed. The caveat that the case might be reopened was pure lip service. Sheila Klaus was to be freed, end of debate.

  Marie Darrow was on hand at the jail to help Sheila process out and to drive her home. Sheila’s personal possessions were returned to her, each item checked off a list. Nic Tatum had asked that he be allowed to join them, but Darrow nixed the idea, saying that it might be too traumatic for Sheila. Tatum didn’t understand the rationale behind it but wasn’t in a position to disagree.

  Darrow stopped with Sheila at a supermarket on the way home and helped her pick up necessities. Sheila said little during the time they were together after leaving jail, and Darrow didn’t press her for conversation. When they pulled into the driveway, Sheila said, “I can’t believe I’m here.”

  “To be honest with you,” said Darrow, “I can’t either.”

  “It’s because of you and Mac Smith,” Sheila said. “How can I ever thank you?”

  “No need. It’s what we do for a living. I’ll help you in with the groceries and your bag.”

  Darrow had been as surprised at the decision to drop the charges as Sheila had been. She’d entered her motion for dismissal more as a pro forma exercise than expecting it to prevail. When she’d asked one of the attorneys on the prosecution side for his reaction, he responded by shrugging, shaking his head, and extending his hands in a gesture of frustration. Darrow sensed that he wanted to say something but was holding back. It didn’t matter. Her motion had prevailed. That was all that counted.

  Being home rejuvenated Sheila. Her steps were light as she went room to room opening windows to air out the house. She went to the atrium at the rear and examined the multitude of plants there. “They need water,” she lamented as she went to the kitchen, where she filled a large watering can, brought it to the atrium, and carefully poured the water into the pots. Darrow stood in the doorway and watched. She couldn’t help but smile. It was seldom that her efforts on the part of an accused had such a happy ending. Sheila seemed suddenly aware of Darrow’s presence and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Here I am worrying about my plants and leaving you standing there. Would you like some tea or coffee? I have cinnamon rolls in the freezer. Cold cuts? We just bought some, didn’t we?”

  “Thank you, no, Sheila. I really should be going. I’m glad you’re home.”

  Sheila fell into a chair and laughed. “Home,” she said. “I never thought I’d see it again.”

  She closed her eyes, a serene smile on her face. Darrow was about to leave when she realized that Sheila had slipped into the sort of reverie she’d witnessed when first meeting her.

  “Sheila?” she said.

  Sheila opened her eyes and looked about, a startled expression on her face.

  “Sheila?” Darrow repeated.

  Sheila’s stare was vacant as she looked at Darrow. A crooked sneer crossed her face and she said in a low voice, “You can go now.”

  Darrow was taken aback at the change. One minute Sheila had been happy at being home, watering her plants and offering refreshments. Now Darrow was faced with a different person.

  “All right,” Darrow said, “I’ll go. Enjoy being home, Sheila.”

  This person who’d replaced Sheila said, “So long. We’re fine now.”

  “We’re?”

  Sheila closed her eyes and leaned back. Darrow took
a final look before leaving the house, getting in her car, and driving away, totally confused. The thought that kept running through her mind was, Maybe Dr. Nicholas Tatum was right.

  * * *

  Although this was a day that Tatum had set aside to see private patients, he’d canceled his morning appointments in the hope that he could accompany Darrow and Sheila from jail. When Darrow had rejected his offer, it was too late to reschedule, so Tatum used the morning to work out and to catch up on paperwork. Had he had a free afternoon, he would have gone out to Potomac Airfield and put in an hour’s flight time in his Micco aerobatic plane. That would have cleared his mind of what dominated his thinking since awakening that morning—Sheila Klaus. Mac Smith had been right. There was more to her release than a decision by the U.S. attorney’s office that they possessed insufficient evidence to hold her. What was most troubling was the thought that Sheila was now alone, on her own, and capable of being controlled and manipulated by those who had captured her mind in the first instance.

  He and Cindy Simmons had made a date for dinner that night. Cindy was in a celebratory mood because she’d learned that afternoon that she would be receiving a promotion accompanied by a raise. Tatum wasn’t in the mood for a fancy restaurant and suggested they order in from a local Chinese take-out place. Cindy’s pout put an end to that plan, and they called and lucked into a last-minute reservation at her favorite restaurant, the Oval Room on Connecticut Avenue, across from the White House. Although she denied it, Tatum knew that Cindy not only liked the food and service, she also enjoyed seeing members of D.C.’s political power elite at other tables, congressmen and congresswomen, cabinet members, and occasionally a Supreme Court justice. She was, as he playfully put it, a closet political junkie, and when she wasn’t working at the hospital, her TV was perpetually tuned to C-SPAN.