The Imposter (Alexandra Destephano Book 2) Page 12

  Robert took a long swig from his Irish coffee and wished he'd ordered another one.

  Monique and Jack stared at each other.

  Finally, Monique began again. "Jack, the entire Jim McMurdie story is pure speculation. May I finish?" Her voice was calm, cool.

  "Yes, of course, Monique. I just feel differently. McMurdie's a good man, was a fine cop. Now it sounds as if he could be implicated in this crime. It's unfair, it sucks, to say the very least. Of course, finish." Jack's voice was diffident as he raised his shoulders.

  "Okay. Anyway, after I talked to Lynette the first time, she called again and reported that Jim was becoming increasingly depressed and irritable. His mood swings were frequent, and he'd begun drinking more than usual. She said she was becoming more frightened of him. She told Jim he had to go for help or she would leave."

  "How did that go? Did he come to see you?" Alex asked.

  "Yes. He came three times. He was quiet, withdrawn, and cooperative. He seemed to know he had irrational behavior, but didn't know why. He did better for a while and he and Lynette got some marriage counseling. Things were better. I put him on a course of psychotropic drugs that seemed to help, when he took them…."

  "Only a short period … what happened?" Robert remained absorbed in Monique's story.

  "Typically, he stopped taking his medicine. I guess there was some sort of incident at work and the internal affairs division of the New Orleans Police Department put him on involuntary leave. Jim then experienced extreme melancholia. He was acutely depressed."

  "Why was he admitted to the pavilion last week? What was the reason?" Jack asked.

  Monique shook her head sadly and answered. "Lynette and Jim were shopping for baby furniture at the mall when Jim saw a man he believed Lynette was having another affair with. He went berserk and attacked the man. His attack was vicious. Jim was psychotic and delusional at the time. Finally, the security guards at the mall subdued him and he was TDO to us. It's extremely sad."

  The group digested this information slowly. Finally, Alex asked, "How badly was the man hurt?"

  "Pretty bad. He'll recover, though." Monique threw her hands up in frustration. "The worst part is that Lynette, who is seven months pregnant, took their daughter to her parents' home in Baton Rouge. At this point, she's refused to be a part of Jim's therapy."

  Alex thought about this for a moment and said, "Can't say I blame her. She's probably frightened to death of him. I would be. Has he ever attacked her?"

  "No, he's verbally abused her, consistently verbally abused her, but he hasn't attacked or physically -- at least not yet, but it is within the realm of possibility." Monique's voice was low.

  Jack was once again annoyed. "What kind of bull shit response is that? It's within the realm of possibility that I will attack each one of you at this table. Now tell us what you really think, Monique. I'm sick of this psychobabble."

  Monique bristled and her face flushed as the blood poured to it. She managed to hold her temper. "Yes, I think it's highly probable. I think Jim has Othello Syndrome. If he'd attacked Lynette, my diagnosis would be final."

  Robert was the first to respond. "Othello Syndrome, like Othello as in Shakespeare's Othello?"

  Monique nodded her head. She turned to Jack and explained. "Yes, Othello Syndrome is named for the tragic character in Shakespeare's play in which jealousy played a major role in the characters commission of spousal homicide. While the Othello story occurred in the context of a marital relationship in the play, Othello Syndrome can be applied to any generic situation involving sexual or other intimate partners. As you can imagine, there is no clear demarcation as to what comprises ‘normal’ jealousy versus ‘morbid’ jealousy."

  Robert was clearly intrigued, although he was smart enough not to say so and incur Jack's wrath again.

  Alex could tell. She could still read his face and anticipate what he would say. She wasn't disappointed.

  "How does Othello Syndrome first appear? Is it rare? I've never heard of it. How do they diagnose it? How does the patient present?" Robert fired a barrage of questions at Monique.

  "Othellos appears much like Jim's psychiatric illness has evolved. The forensic literature suggests that Othello Syndrome has appeared as delusional jealousy, sexual jealousy, erotic jealousy, and delusions of infidelity."

  "How is it diagnosed? Are there criteria?" Robert asked again, his medical mind working.

  "Well, sort of. Othello is often subsumed in the DSM diagnostic criteria described under delusional, paranoid disorder. There can be non-bizarre delusions of unfaithfulness, as well as auditory or visual hallucinations. Sometimes it's hard to pick up the hallucinations, if they're not clearly evident." Monique stopped for a minute to think. She continued, "Also, if bipolar syndrome is present, the mood swings may be brief or inconsequential to the relative length of the delusional disturbance. I think that's what's going on with Jim. It's hard to group human behavior into tight little boxes. Frustrates me to death, especially when people try to do it." Monique was beginning to look tired, the wear and tear of the day etched on her face.

  "I think you're right," Robert surmised. “The diagnostic criteria sounds very much like Jim to me. What do you think,” Robert asked Monique.

  "Yeah. It's very possible. There are two things that prevent me from confirming a diagnosis of Othello. Only one has any scientific or medical merit.”

  The group looked at her expectantly.

  Françoise was trying hard to be patient. "Well Doc, spit it out," Jack said carefully.

  "First of all, the spouse is usually the threat in Othello. Jim hasn't physically harmed Lynette yet -- although there are many cases reported where Othello patients attacked neighbors, children, and other unknown persons. Certainly, Jim fits into this mold." Monique stopped, as if examining Jim mentally.

  "What's the second reason you haven't made a final diagnosis?" Alex asked Monique, gently.

  Monique gave Alex a forlorn look. "It's because I don't want to. The syndrome doesn't respond very well to traditional psychotherapy or medication. It has a very poor prognosis. It's a devastating illness."

  There was a long silence at the table as the four friends contemplated Jim's dilemma.

  "Yeah, this really sucks, big time," Jack concurred, obviously distraught.

  "Is there scientific evidence connecting Jim's head injury with the Othello?" Robert asked.

  Monique nodded affirmatively. "Yeah. The best evidence suggests that Othello symptoms follow an injury of some type. As a matter of fact, there's currently a NIH research team working on identifying typical Othello lesions in the brain."

  Commander Françoise, who had been thinking, looked hard at Monique. His face appeared to be carved of stone. "Monique, how dangerous are these people?" His look was ominous.

  Monique's eyes met Jack's head on. "Incredibly dangerous. Jack, these patients are very, very dangerous. Othello patients harbor hostility toward others secondary to their delusional jealousy. This hostility can result in serious physical violence, including homicide. Some Othello patients murder out of morbid jealousy. These patients can be extremely violent to themselves and others."

  "Are these patients dangerous only to themselves and people they know or are they dangerous to anyone?" Jack was pressing Monique for information she didn't want to give.

  After a short silence, Monique acquiesced with a faraway look in her eyes. She looked out the floor-to-ceiling restaurant window as she said, "Individuals suffering from Othello Syndrome pose a significant risk to society in terms of potential violence, both in domestic and generic circumstances. Jealousy in its most severe form, the Othello delusion, plays a major role in completed homicides and spousal murders. In this situation, we know he was delusional. He attacked several men prior to admission."

  Robert looked carefully at Monique and asked her gently, "Do you think Jim could have attacked Angie?"

  Monique replied slowly, "I don't know. I don't believe rape is par
t of the syndrome. At least, I've never seen it reported anywhere in the evidence. I think that's a significant factor when we look at Jim. Otherwise, he could easily fit the picture of the attacker. He's known to be delusional, morbidly jealous." Monique stopped for a moment to think and then continued, "And he presents as classically evolving Othello Syndrome. Who knows?" She shrugged her shoulders, looking very tired. She added, "I'm wasted. Can we continue this tomorrow?"

  Jack felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. As he struggled to get it out and read the text he said, "You guys timed this just right. Gotta go folks, sorry to leave such great company, but I've got another murder in the Quarter. Third one today." He shook his head. "Damn, this is getting old."

  Monique glanced up and said, "Does the Police Commander always have to show up at every crime scene?"

  Jack glared at her. "We've had this conversation. We are all tired, and, yes, this Police Commander will always show up at crime scenes and that isn't changing.”

  Monique looked tired and rejected. It was a good thing she had her car. She'd be damned if she was getting in Jack's car. Of course, she was instantly ashamed for having these thoughts. It was because of Jack's sense of commitment that she loved him so.

  "Let's continue this tomorrow. Of course," Alex said, "we're all beat. Monique, don't be too upset. It may not even be a Pavilion patient. It could be anyone, right Jack?"

  Jack grinned at Alex. "Yep. You bet, Al. Proof is in the pudding and the pudding in this case is hair follicles, semen samples, and bite marks. "Yo, gotta go. Later,” he said as he kissed Monique goodnight.

  As Alex, Robert and Monique walked towards the door of the Palace, Monique said, "I just don't get it. Why in the hell do police rush to a murder scene. They certainly can't help the victim. It's ridiculous."

  "Well," Robert opined, “I think it has to do with testosterone and conditioning. And, in this case, a certain Police Commander who, trust me, will never change.”

  Alex nodded in agreement.

  Monique sighed in resignation. "Yeah, that's why I love him," Monique admitted.

  After hugging each other good night, Alex and Robert again congratulated Monique, who waved them away, suggesting that the romance was 'old hat' now.

  Robert offered Alex ride and she accepted gratefully. During the ride home, the couple enjoyed a companionable chat. They talked about their happiness for Jack and Monique, as well as how difficult it was going to be for Monique to adjust to being a Police Commander's wife, if the romance got that far.

  After reaching her house, Alex invited Robert in for coffee, but he looked at his watch and told her he had to get back to CCMC. He wanted to check on Angie and several other patients whose surgery he had supervised in the O.R.

  Robert walked Alex to the door of her beautifully restored home, remarked how well manicured the lawn was, kissed her briefly on the cheek, returned to his silver Mercedes, and drove off.

  Alex felt very alone after Robert left and wished for a few minutes that he had joined her for some decaf. But, when she realized how exhausted she was, she was glad that he hadn't. The day had been two days long. She was worn out from thinking about Angie, the crime, and the patients in the Pavilion. Besides, the celebration dinner had been wonderful, but a bit stressful at times. Too bad this had to happen to the couple now. Her thoughts kept returning to Jim McMurdie, but for some reason, her intuition told her he didn't do it. After assuring herself that there was no concrete evidence to implicate him, she went into her kitchen, poured herself a glass of milk, found some chocolate cookies, and took them into her bedroom.

  Milk and cookies in the bed were Alex's treat after a long, hard day. She supposed it was the child in her, and tonight she needed to nurture that child because her day had been so terrible. She changed into her nightgown, climbed into her antique, Victorian, walnut bed, and flipped on the TV with the remote. She watched the late news, pleased there was no mention of Angie's rape and beating. The press had virtually persecuted CCMC earlier in the year when patients had been attacked inside the hospital. Alex clicked the TV off and began to rethink the day. She was too tired to be analytical, so she focused her thoughts on Monique and Jack. When her eyes began to feel heavy, she snapped out her light and went to sleep.

  At 3:30 in the morning, she was awakened out of a dead sleep by the constant, shrill ringing of the phone on her bedside table. She picked up the handset drowsily.

  "Hello," Alex said sleepily.

  Someone was trying to talk to her. It was a woman, but she was hysterical. Alex couldn't understand her words or recognize her voice. The woman was babbling.

  Alex sat up in her bed, interrupted the caller, and said clearly, "Please slow down. I can't understand what you're saying." By this time, she was wide awake, adrenaline pulsing through her veins.

  "Alex, Alex, it's me! Monique. Get here as soon as you can. The Pavilion. It's horrible, just horrible!" Monique started sobbing again and hung up the phone.

  Chapter 16

  Depression weighted Jack down like a ton of bricks as he made his way back down Canal to the Quarter. He was upset over his potential disagreement with Monique about her patients, as well as a nagging feeling that their careers would always present a challenge to their relationship. He guessed he'd just have to figure out a way to maneuver around it. He certainly knew he would try. He still couldn't believe the beautiful Dr. Monique Desmonde wanted him. Damn he was a lucky SOB. He jumped as his police scanner blared in his ear. He was surprised to hear the voice of his PR man, Jason Aldridge. Oh shit, he thought to himself. This couldn't be good. What is Jason doing out this late at a crime scene? This must be bad. He picked up his receiver, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  "Yo, Jason! What's up? Are you at the scene?"

  "Commander, are you close?" Jason's voice sounded tense.

  "Yeah, I am turning into the Quarter now. What's up?"

  "We'll talk when you get here. Hurry up."

  "Gotcha! I'm turning in now." Jack signed off, secure in the knowledge that whoever was dead was important. His sense of dread only increased as he searched for parking on the narrow streets of the Quarter. Bourbon Street was party central with all the sex shops and no one seemed to have any idea that there was a corpse down the street. Jack doubted they would have cared even if they had known it. While the Quarter was the center of tourism in New Orleans, as well as a beacon of history and architecture, it was also home to some of the most heinous crime scenes in the world. And, it was Jack's beat. It had always been Jack's beat. He loved the French Quarter, but he feared its steamy streets and deviant personalities.

  What a bitch, Jack thought to himself. There is no parking to be found anywhere. Not even illegal parking. Jack circled a few times and finally pulled his silver caddy into a private driveway. He put his light on the hood in case the owners should come out and complain.

  As he started walking towards the scene, Jack tripped over a body laying on the ground. The body groaned and rolled over, so Jack kept on walking briskly through the oppressive August night. He saw the blue bubble lights of at least six NOPD police cars, dizzying as they competed with the red lights of the emergency vehicles. As he hurried down the rough, aged, and bumpy sidewalk, it struck him that the crime scene location was close to the scene from last night – or, rather, early this morning, to be more specific. As he got a little closer he realized that the crime scene was in the exact location as the one less than 24 hours earlier. Damn, he thought to himself. What The Fuck! Here we go again. What the hell is this all about? This is definitely gonna suck. Why the same place? I wonder if it's the same perp. It has to be.

  Jason spotted the Commander and walked towards him, a frown on his face. Jason could see the finely etched lines of worry and stress in Jack's face, highlighted by the circling beams of the police cars.

  Then, Jack noticed that there were two bodies, two victims, in the same exact spot where the two kids had been found earlier. The meat wagon was pulle
d to the side in another alley.

  "What the hell, Jason, there are two bodies? Again? What do you know," Jack demanded.

  "Yeah, and they're not the typical guys we usually find down this far in the Quarter."

  "Yeah, I see. They're wearing some pretty expensive threads," Jack observed, as he noted the custom-tailored suit on one of the victims. The other man was dressed casually in khakis and a polo shirt. His face was literally blue. Really blue. Jack had never seen anyone so blue from death. He hoped it was the blue police lights making the guy look worse than he really was. But he wasn't sure. Jack shined his flashlight on the guy. Yep, the guy's nails were so blue that they could have passed for black. For a moment Jack wondered if the vic had on black nail polish. The guy in the suit had on a wedding band and the other man had on a Rolex watch.

  "Is the Rolex real or a knock off and do we have any ID?"

  "Commander, yes and yes. The Rolex appears to be genuine and IDs have tentatively been established. Both men had their wallets in their pockets, so robbery doesn't seem to be a motive, unfortunately. Between the two of them, they were carrying several thousand dollars." Jack continued to stare at the bodies, saying nothing as Jason continued, "Bad news, Commander. Here comes the Mayor. I can spot him and his entourage a block away."

  Jack gave Jason a dark look. The Mayor of New Orleans was Jack's boss and his sworn enemy. He really didn't need this after the day he'd had. "What the hell, who invited them to this party and who the hell else is coming?"

  "I hope no one, sir," Jason replied. "Trust me, the only person I invited was you."

  "Then why the hell are the Mayor and his buddies here," Jack demanded, sensing the beginning of a huge cluster. "And why is the man in the suit blue? Did he choke or something?"

  Jason shrugged his shoulders and replied, "Clueless. The M.E. should be here any minute. I hear there's another murder over in the third district."

  Jason continued to check out the body. "Maybe he strangled or puked," Jason offered, looking closer at the dead man.