Sullivan's Law (6 page)

“Metroix is a decent fellow. We never experienced any behavior problems during the time he was here.”

“Wasn't he being treated for schizophrenia?” Carolyn asked, riffling through the file and pulling out the paperwork from the prison. “People with schizophrenia generally exhibit a myriad of behavior problems. Who made the diagnosis?”

“He claimed he was hearing voices,” the warden said. “Our staff psychiatrist checked him out and felt he could benefit from medication. Then Metroix heard about some new drug. We couldn't get the board of prisons to approve it, so Metroix paid for it himself. If I remember correctly, one of his relatives left him some money.”

“Did you verify that?”

“I can't keep track of everything that happens inside this facility,” Lackner answered defensively. “Why don't you call and speak to Dr. Edleson?”

“Forget the money for the moment. Did you provide Daniel Metroix with a lab?”

“Oh, that,” the warden said, emitting a nervous chuckle. “Prisoners have a way of exaggerating things. It was an old storage closet. Daniel was good at fixing things. You know, appliances and things we use here at the prison. He was a trustee, so I let him set up a little shop. A few other trustees worked there as well.”

Carolyn was about to conclude the call when she glanced down at a report written by the warden in Daniel's behalf. Having a warden on your side should have made the prison gates instantly swing open. In a twelve-year-to-life sentence, most individuals were paroled after approximately eight years. Unless they tried to escape or killed a guard or another inmate, all prisoners received good time and work-time credits, credits which cut their prison terms almost in half. Daniel Metroix had been incarcerated for twenty-three years, a sentence that was equivalent to forty. She'd known multiple murderers who'd served less time.

“Why was this man repeatedly denied parole?” she asked. “You recommended that he be released over fifteen years ago, citing him as a model prisoner.”

“You'll have to speak to the parole board,” Lackner said. “I have to take another call now.”

Carolyn disconnected, then looked up the number for William Fletcher, Daniel's attorney. After she emphasized her credentials, the man's assistant patched her through to him at his home. Fletcher was semiretired and specialized in estate management.

“I can't divulge information without a signed consent from Mr. Metroix.”

“Come on,” Carolyn prodded. “I don't need numbers and details. All I want is a yes or no. Did Daniel Metroix receive an inheritance from his grandmother?”

“You're a smart lady, Ms. Sullivan. The fact that I'm his attorney should tell you something. Don't call me again until you have a signed release from my client.”

Carolyn made an exception and ate lunch in the cafeteria. Then she spent most of the afternoon in front of her computer screen, reading through every document she could find related to the arrest, trial, and conviction of Daniel Metroix. She was puzzled as to why the public defender who'd represented him hadn't pleaded him not guilty by reason of insanity. The fact that Metroix suffered from schizophrenia and had spent three months in a state psychiatric hospital had never been mentioned during the trial, nor were any records from his psychiatrist forwarded to the authorities at Chino. She couldn't ask his public defender what happened as the man had been killed in a car accident fifteen years ago.

When she finished reading through the trial transcripts, Carolyn managed to extract Metroix's original arrest and booking sheet from the computer's archives. Among his personal belongings had been an appointment card from a local psychiatrist, along with a small white envelope containing four pills, which the crime lab had identified as a drug called Levodopa.

She'd never heard of this particular medication, which wasn't surprising considering what little she knew about psychotropic medications. She first tried to track down Walter Gershon, the psychiatrist listed on the card, but was unable to find his number. Assuming the doctor had either retired or died like the public defender, she typed in the drug Levodopa on the Internet, then hit the search button.

The on-line
PDR,
or
Physicians Desk Reference,
indicated that Levodopa was primarily used in the treatment of Parkinson's disease. Why would a schizophrenic be given a drug used to treat Parkinson's? The medication dramatically increased the levels of dopamine in the brain.

Carolyn decided to call a psychiatrist who frequently served as an expert witness. Once she told Dr. Albert Weiss's secretary that she could bill the county for an hour of the doctor's time, the woman transferred her to his cell phone.

“I need to ask you a question,” Carolyn said, telling him the name of the medication and a brief outline of the circumstances.

“Any psychiatrist,” Dr. Weiss said, “or even any physician, for that matter, would never treat a known schizophrenic with Levodopa. Are you sure you got the name of the drug right?”

“It could have been a typo,” she told him. “Was there a medication with a similar spelling which may have been prescribed for this condition over twenty years ago?”

“I've been practicing psychiatry since you were in grade school,” Weiss told her. “As far as I know, there's no such animal.”

“What kind of effect would the drug have?”

“Oh, nothing much,” the psychiatrist said sarcastically. “The patient would more than likely become psychotic not long after the drug hit his bloodstream. You caught me on the golf course. I'm about to tee off. Did I answer your question?”

“Thanks,” Carolyn said. “Enjoy your game.”

Heading to the break room to get a soda, Carolyn ran into Brad Preston as he was chatting and laughing with Amy McFarland.

“I've come across some major discrepancies in the Metroix case.” Carolyn pulled back the tab on her can of 7UP and took a swallow. “As soon as I get all the facts straight, we need to talk.”

Brad smiled at Amy McFarland. “See the guy once a month,” he told Carolyn. “I assigned you four more investigations this morning. The Metroix case is ancient history. You don't have time to be concerned about discrepancies.”

Carolyn gave him a look that would drop an elephant. His new girlfriend didn't seem to be pressed for time. She turned and smiled sweetly at the woman. “Have you met Brad's fiancée, Amy?” she asked. “You should see the ring he gave her last week. Looks like about three carats. Not only that, he's taking her to Paris on their honeymoon. Isn't that romantic?”

Carolyn watched the woman's face twist in anger. She stormed out of the room, whacking Brad in the stomach with her purse as she passed.

“I knew you were sleeping with her,” Carolyn said.

“You're not only nuts,” Preston said, coffee spilled down the front of his shirt, “you're a first-class bitch.”

“Keep your dick out of the office,” Carolyn told him, a look of satisfaction on her face.

“You didn't mind.”

“You weren't my supervisor then, remember?”

Back at her desk, Carolyn read through Metroix's trial transcripts again to make certain she hadn't missed anything. Something didn't add up. Brad had originally told her how sensitive the case was, and warned her not to make any mistakes. In the break room, he'd told her the case was ancient history, that all she had to do was see the man once a month.

Carolyn was now determined to find out everything she could about the death of Tim Harrison. As a law student, she was intrigued by numerous elements of the case.

Confirming her suspicions that Brad was sleeping with another woman hurt, particularly since Amy McFarland was twenty-five and a knockout. Obviously, he hadn't ended their affair simply because of his promotion. Had he been seeing Amy even before she'd been hired at the agency, possibly helped her get the job? A probation officer didn't make a great deal of money, but as in most civil service positions, the number of people who applied was staggering. The benefits were excellent and the pay increases came like clockwork. Most of the new people were college graduates, and many held master's degrees.

Carolyn stared out the window, trying to keep herself from crying. The older a woman got, the harder it became to accept rejection. Her thoughts turned to David Reynolds. Should she accept his advances, then somehow manage to parade him in front of Brad? She rushed into an interview room and called her brother. “What are you doing?”

“Eating a bowl of cereal,” Neil said. “What are you doing?”

“Contemplating suicide,” his sister told him. “Brad dumped me for a young blonde. Not only that, I have to work with her. I feel like a fool.”

“Told you the guy was an asshole,” Neil said calmly, knowing she was being melodramatic. “Is she a young blonde, or is she a gorgeous young blonde? If she's got a decent face and a dynamite body, I'll give you fifty bucks if you get me her number. Tell her I'm a famous artist. I'll paint her and immortalize her beauty forever.”

“I hate you,” Carolyn said, kicking a chair and knocking it over. “I don't know why I called you. When I'm upset, you never try to comfort me. All you ever do is insult me.”

“That's the point,” Neil said, laughing. “Now you're mad at me instead of Brad.”

Leaving the interview room, Carolyn decided to get out of the office and pay a visit to the property room at the jail. Nothing related to the psychiatrist or the pills had been introduced during Daniel's trial. Could someone have suppressed this evidence because they knew it would support either a diminished capacity or an insanity defense?

“Is this date right?” asked Jessie Richards, a deputy assigned to the property room. He peered out at her from a window in the door.

“The date's right.” She handed him the computer printout, listing the items that had been in Daniel's possession at the time of his arrest, hoping against reason that they were in a box somewhere collecting dust. Procedure called for the prisoner's belongings to be forwarded to whatever prison he was sent to in order that they could be returned upon his release. Sending an inmate his property wasn't a high priority; therefore, it was occasionally overlooked.

“I was in diapers when this dude went to prison,” Richards said, typing in the case number from the printouts she'd given him. “I didn't know they even had computers in those days.”

“They had cars too, Jessie,” Carolyn told him. The man was an avid surfer and had probably spent his teenage years in a fog of marijuana. Ironically, the lower spectrum in law enforcement had numerous individuals with his type of background. Years ago, things had been different. Potential officers had to consent to a lie detector test. Any drug use whatsoever and they were sent packing.

“Our records show his stuff disappeared a few days after his arrest,” Richards said.

Carolyn was confused. “That can't be,” she said. “The drugs were sent to the lab to be analyzed. I found the report in the archives. It doesn't say anything about the property being lost.” Almost every computer had its own access codes and many of the files were encrypted. Security was particularly tight as to evidence, but the situation had been entirely different twenty-three years ago. “Call the lab and see if they forgot to return it.”

“You must be joking,” Richards said, spinning his chair around to face her. “All the guy had on him were some prescription pills, a few bucks, and a business card. They make a bonfire every year and burn up mountains of pot. Trust me, Sullivan, it ain't worth a phone call. Not only will nobody at the lab know where it went, they won't even take the time to talk to me.”

Carolyn's suspicions were mounting. On the walk back to her office, she asked herself if the person who'd stolen Metroix's property had failed to realize that the items in his possession at the time of his arrest had already been entered into the computer system. The crime had occurred when the entire criminal record system was being overhauled. Even if the person who'd swiped Metroix's property had checked the computer, the information might not have shown up due to the confusion of trying to computerize such a massive amount of data.

Daniel Metroix was only four years older than Carolyn. It was ironic that they'd lived in the same apartment building. She only remembered the name of the complex because her parents had told her about it. Her father had been unemployed for a number of years, causing the family to have to move into a subsidized building on the west side of Ventura. Soon afterward, things had improved and he'd secured a job as a high school math teacher. Her mother later went back to school and obtained a master's degree in chemistry. Until five years ago, Marie Sullivan had taught at a junior college in Ventura. She now lived in an exclusive retirement community in Camarillo.

Neil was the baby of the family and his artistic talents and easygoing manner had caused her mother to idolize him. Carolyn had possessed the brightest future academically until she'd gotten pregnant during her second year at Stanford. So, she thought, she and Metroix shared something else in common—unforeseen obstacles had prevented them from meeting their full potential. According to his high school records, several teachers had recommended Metroix for a scholarship, and one had classified him as a near genius in the areas of math and science.

Carolyn didn't think twice when recommending a maximum sentence for a violent offender. She was not only one of the most respected probation officers in the county, she was also the most punitive. But something had gone terribly wrong in the case of Daniel Metroix. Suppressing or tampering with evidence was a felony.

With an objective viewpoint, Carolyn thought, returning to her desk, a person realized that the pendulum swung both ways. Some offenders who served only a short stint behind bars posed a serious threat to society. Daniel Metroix's case didn't appear to be merely sloppy and unconcerned work on the part of his attorney.