Dangerous Behavior (Revised Edition) Page 12

  CHAPTER 23

  During my lunch break I went to my office and typed out a four-page document summing up my evaluation of Victor Janko.

  After work I handed it to Ben in his office.

  "It’s a condensed version of my notes,“ I explained. “Would you mind reading it?”

  Ben nodded. He was back to the E-cig.

  "Okay if I sit here while you read?" I asked.

  "Fine,” he said. “But if you see my lips move, be tolerant. Senior moment."

  As he read I noticed he'd missed a spot on his chin while shaving. I saw his grumpy looking face, with its cappuccino colored skin and neat gray mustache, and I realized how much our relationship had mellowed. Despite occasional friction, I was genuinely fond of the guy.

  Ben finished reading and looked disturbed. “So, you're saying Janko's been suffering from Dissociative Amnesia?"

  "Localized type."

  "Caused by physical trauma."

  "Yes. As I say, he was punched repeatedly in the face and head and must’ve sustained brain and cervical damage.”

  "And this Amnestic disorder lasted for fifteen years?"

  "Yes," I replied. "Since he had no therapy, he had no way to recover those memories. Actually, with his beach paintings, he was subconsciously trying to remember, but he couldn’t."

  Ben nodded and thumbed through my notes. Then he closed the document and pushed it aside.

  "David," he said, "Y’know, Janko could’ve made that whole story up. Guys around here’ll try anything to get sprung, and they’re pretty crafty."

  "No, no. Victor doesn’t have that kind of imagination."

  "The man’s a painter," Ben pointed out. "He must have a vivid imagination."

  "He only paints one subject — beaches. And he copies them from photographs.”

  "You say that book, 'The Cat in the Hat' triggered his memory, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Did anyone else know about the book?"

  "No." Then I remembered that wasn’t true. "Um... actually, I did mention it to Father Toussenel. Oh, and I also asked Victor’s girlfriend about it."

  "His girlfriend?" Ben said with surprise. "You interviewed her?"

  "I thought it would be useful," I said. “Problem?”

  "No. I’m just surprised you didn’t mention her in your notes."

  "I told you they were condensed."

  "All right," Ben said. "But what if Janko’s girlfriend told him you’d asked about the book? What if she helped him concoct this whole story?"

  “I didn’t tell her the book was connected to the crime.”

  Ben ignored me and went on.

  "Maybe Janko doesn't have the imagination for it," he said, "But his girlfriend certainly does. Father Emile says she’s very bright. And these women who love killers are real obsessive types. Convoluted schemes are part of their mind-sets.

  "That's not what happened..."

  "And this business of the killer looking like a Native American," Ben said, using the PC term. "With the long black hair, and the broken nose. It’s bizarre. It sounds contrived. Can’t you see that?"

  "What about the sweatshirt?" I retorted. "What about the palm trees...and 'Life is a Beach'?"

  "You didn’t see any sweatshirt, did you? Janko has a fixation on painting beach scenes, so it would be easy to make those two things fit together. "

  "Look. We just disagree, Ben," I said. "But that’s mostly because — you don’t really know Victor Janko, not the way I do."

  "You’ve spent one week with him. That’s not..."

  "It was long enough for me to learn that it’s not in his character to be part of such a complex conspiracy. He’s very introverted — it’s hard to get him to talk at all. To think of him planning this with his girlfriend and then coming up with an acting performance like he did...well, it’s just not Victor."

  “Lemme ask you one thing,” he said. “Is it possible you’re wrong?”

  “Of course.” I looked in his eyes.

  He glared back implacably. “You have no proof that Janko was telling the truth, do you?”

  I reached in my shoulder bag and took out the newspaper photo. I pushed it across his desk. He glanced at it. "What’s this?”

  "New York Post photograph. It shows the victim’s ex-boyfriend, Leo Hagopian. The Band-aid on his chin is where Victor cut him. The do-rag covers the scratch marks on his forehead. That backs up what Victor told me."

  "A Band-aid and a do-rag? I'd hardly call that corroboration."

  "But the picture matches Victor's description of the killer exactly. He looks like an Apache.”

  "Well, if Janko knew about this photo,” Ben said, “He could've made up his story to fit the picture."

  "But how would he know I'd go to library to look at it?"

  "Doesn’t his girlfriend work at the library? This isn't proof..."

  "Look, if Victor's story isn't true, then why did he have the Dr. Seuss book when the cops picked him up?"

  "He stole it from the woman's apartment."

  "But why?"

  "Happens all the time,” Ben said. “One guy up here took hairbrushes from the six women he killed. Turned out his mama had sexually abused him with a hairbrush."

  "But why "The Cat in the Hat?"”

  "I don't know," Ben said. "We may never know. We don't need to know."

  "Of course we need to know," I said. “Look, whether you accept this photo as corroboration, I want you to consider something else.”

  I paused. I needed to get my words exactly right.

  "Ben,” I said. “The work we do...you know it’s not an exact science. In the end it’s really about instinct — it always comes down to what you feel about something. That’s all we’ve got going for us. Now, I’ve listened carefully to my patient, weighed all the evidence, looked at all the possibilities, and my instinct, my gut feeling is that Victor did not kill that woman."

  "David," Ben said calmly, "You know I have great respect for you. But this is a life and death decision. If you’re wrong and Janko’s part of this elaborate construct of lies, then he's one of the most devious and dangerous convicts in this whole facility."

  “But as you said — this is my call.”

  He held up his hand and looked directly into my eyes. “You plan to recommend Janko for parole, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  The battle was joined. Now each sentence would be loaded with fighting words.

  "Look," Ben said. "If you give Janko the okay, there's a good chance he'll walk."

  "I know that."

  "If he does," Ben said, "You'd better be prepared for the worst-case scenario. You pick up the paper one morning and there’s the headline — ‘Paroled Psychopath Kills Again.' That blood will be on your hands."

  I looked at Ben with irritation.

  "Christ," he went on. "Haven’t we seen enough of those headlines in the last few years?"

  "Oh, suddenly Victor is a serial killer?” I said. ”Ben, he was convicted of killing one person, and he’s innocent."

  "You say he’s innocent. I say he might well be a serial killer wannabe, who got caught before he could kill again."

  "Based on what evidence?"

  Ben smiled condescendingly, and puffed on his E-cig. The tip glowed with phony fire. "David," he said. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve lost your objectivity."

  "Because I don't agree with you?"

  "You’re doing what I warned you against. You think your judgment is better than it really is."

  I glared angrily at him. Ben took out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer. "I want you to look at something."

  "What’s that?"

  "It’s the COVR printout on Victor Janko."

  "I don't have to look," I said defiantly. "I know it’s a bunch of multi-dimensional contingency tables, cluster analyses of risk factors, and the percentile prediction of recidivism. Which puts Victor in the high nineties...Very High Risk. Right?"

  "Exactly."


  "So that’s what this is all about," I said. "It has nothing to do with my judgment. Or your judgment for that matter. It’s all about the COVR prediction."

  "The program only backs up my own opinion on Janko," Ben retorted. "And it confirms yours is way off."

  “Opinion,” I said. “That’s the operative word, Ben. Your opinion is different than mine. I was asked to give my opinion on whether Victor is dangerous. Like you said, the parole board may concur or disagree. I don’t decide if he goes free. They do. My job is to tell them what I think.”

  “I’m sorry, David,” Ben said. He paused then spoke assertively. “I’m gonna have to overrule you on this.”

  I was stunned.

  "Ben, we had an agreement."

  "I know, but..."

  "You gave me your word."

  "I also took the Hippocratic oath," Ben said, "And swore I would 'do no harm'. There are women out there who’d suffer grievous harm if Janko goes free."

  “But...”

  Ben shouted me down. "For Chrissakes, David. You took the same oath I did. As a doctor, how can you be willing to take this risk?"

  "As a doctor,” I said, “How can you keep Victor Janko in here? You do that, you’re not being a doctor, you’re being a jailer. You’re supposed to be healer — not an agent of social authority. Our job is to treat Victor. You just want to punish him — not only for a crime he didn’t do, but for crimes you think he might do."

  Ben rose from his chair. "You seem to think this Janko case is unique around here. Well, it’s not. I’ve had plenty like this. And at times I’ve been wrong."

  Ben began pacing like a caged animal.

  "I’m sure I’ve kept some guys in here who deserved to get out,” he said. “But that doesn't bother me as much as the rapist I let go, who attacked a teenager two hours after he was released. Or that nerdy guy, in here for shoplifting — I judged him borderline Schiz, but not dangerous. He got paroled and a week later he shoves a homeless man in front of a subway train. That bothers me. So when research showed computer predictions were better than mine, hell, I was happy to accept that. In fact, I was relieved. Mistakes are still gonna be made, but if they are, let’s be sure to make ‘em on the conservative side. The stakes are just too high."

  "You’re damn right the stakes are high," I said. "I’m fighting for an innocent man’s right to freedom."

  Ben sat back down at his desk.

  "Look," he said, "In five years, Janko will have another chance at parole. Why don’t you just keep working with him, see if his story holds up over time?"

  "Sure," I responded. "That’s easy...for you. You won’t be spending those five years totally cut off from the world. Ad Seg. Jesus, why not call it what it really is? Solitary Confinement. But that doesn’t sound nice. Confinement ...being penned up in an eight-by-ten cell without even a window. Solitary...being deprived of all human contact, except for a guard who..."

  Better not to bring Karp’s abuse of Victor into this.

  "...except for guards who act like zoo-keepers, turning inmates into docile animals, dependent on them for the smallest comforts."

  "David, I’m just saying..."

  "I know what you’re saying. In five years, he’ll have another parole hearing, and he’ll be labeled Very High Risk again — because the COVR update beta version 6.0 evaluates Victor’s file and reads Poor, Uneducated, Comes from broken home. Conclusion — he must be a danger to society. If he were a middle class college graduate with a father, he’d be Low Risk, and walking out the door."

  I pointed a finger at Ben. "Admit it," I said. "You have no intention of ever letting Victor Janko out of here. Because you’re afraid to."

  I waited for him to respond. He said nothing.

  "Ben, we have no right to keep Victor locked up just to be on the safe side, or because we don’t want the responsibility. And we can’t abdicate that responsibility to a machine, because the moment we do that, we give up our humanity."

  “I don’t feel the least bit inhumane"," Ben said calmly. "Very simply — I cannot, in good conscience, allow Victor Janko to be roaming around in the streets."

  Push had come to shove. "If you don’t let me testify," I said, trying to sound unemotional, "I’m going to have to resign."

  "Are you serious?" Ben asked.

  "Absolutely."

  "Oh, come on. You mean you’d quit over this?"

  "You got it."

  "Now I know you’ve lost your objectivity. David, this is a clinical disagreement, not a personal one."

  "You went back on your word. I consider that personal."

  "Okay. Okay," he said, "I made a mistake. I'm sorry. But that shouldn’t make you quit. I wouldn't fire you because you made a mistake."

  "This is not about mistakes," I said. "It’s about a man’s life."

  "I know. But quitting won’t solve..."

  "Look," I said with finality. "Either I’m the one at that hearing tomorrow, or I’m outta here."

  I headed for the door.

  "David. Wait a minute."

  I stopped.

  "Tell you what, David," he said, kindly and avuncular. "Why don’t you sleep on it tonight? Maybe you’ll change your mind by morning."

  "Not gonna happen," I said curtly. I left, closed the door behind me and stalked down the hall.

  CHAPTER 24

  I opened my motel room door. There, lounging on my bed reading a book, was Daisy Lesczcynski. She looked up and smiled.

  Jesus. That’s all I need. "What are you doing here?"

  Daisy swung her legs to the floor and moved towards me. She was a wearing man's shirt and denim shorts; I saw the play of her thigh muscles as she walked.

  "I brought you a present," she said, holding the book out.

  "Daisy, I don’t think..."

  "It’s 'Second April'...remember, the poem your mom used to read to you? It’s my own personal copy. I want you to have it."

  "That’s very nice," I responded caustically. "But it’s not appropriate..."

  She pressed the book into my hand. "Read the inscription," she said eagerly.

  I shook my head no.

  "Well, it says, 'To David Rothberg, a brilliant doctor and a sensitive...'"

  "I said this is not appropriate." I forced the book back into her hands.

  "Please don’t be mad," she said. Her eyes widened like a small child pleading with a parent. She grabbed a bit of blonde hair at her temple and began her finger-twirl. Her nails were now orange. What’s the deal with her fingernail couleur du jour?

  "How did you get in here?"

  "Oh. I told the room clerk I was your girlfriend and I wanted to surprise you. I guess I have an honest face."

  Pop must’ve been running the desk. Probably didn’t even look at her.

  "Daisy," I said sternly. "You had no right to do that."

  "I’m sorry. Please forgive me," she said. "I just had to see you. I was watching the Six O'clock News tonight and they said Victor's parole hearing was changed to tomorrow. I didn't know. Do you believe that? I had to find out on TV."

  "What do you want, Daisy?"

  "I’m just so worried. I feel like my whole life is hanging on what that stupid parole board says. I thought maybe you could tell me...what's gonna happen."

  I sat down heavily in a chair. Daisy looked at me anxiously.

  "What?" she asked. "Is something wrong?"

  I didn't respond.

  "Doctor," Daisy said. "If you know something, tell me."

  I looked at the floor.

  "Please," she begged. "I have a right to know."

  I looked up. "Yes. I guess you do."

  "What?"

  "I shouldn't tell you...because I haven't told Victor yet, But...okay. I’m afraid it’s not going to work out."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Actually, I was going to recommend Victor for parole. But Dr. Caldwell, my boss, overruled me. He’s convinced Victor is dangerous."

  "But...you know he’s
not."

  "It’s not my call any more."

  Daisy crossed the room, and knelt down beside me. "Isn’t there anything you can do?"

  "No."

  She moved closer. "But Dr. Caldwell doesn’t even know Victor," she said. "You’re the one who’s been..."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "It's out of my hands."

  "Oh, no."

  "Now, Daisy," I said firmly, "I want you to go home."

  Daisy stood up suddenly. "I can’t believe this is happening."

  She walked away and leaned against the far wall, her back to me.

  "They can’t do this to me," she said. "After all this time. All this waiting. They’re taking away the one thing I’ve been living for. The only thing I’ve ever wanted."

  "Daisy..."

  She turned to me, her hands flailing. I hardly recognized her face; it was contorted with anger. She hurled the poetry book across the room.

  "And they’ve taken away the only thing Victor ever wanted," she shouted. "This’ll destroy him. But that’s what they want. The System decided he was a murderer, but he didn’t get the death penalty. So now the System is gonna kill him anyway...any way they can. An eye for an eye, that’s what they want...an eye for an eye...an eye for an eye..."

  She was crying bitterly. "I can’t let this happen," she sobbed. "I can’t. I can’t..."

  She ran to the bed and flung herself across it.

  I went over to her. "Daisy," I said quietly. "I know this is upsetting. But Victor will have another chance at parole.”

  She turned over and looked at me tearfully. "Five years. I can’t live on hope for five years."

  "That’s a decision you have to make," I said. "Either your love can sustain you, or you can move on with your life. The important thing is — the choice is yours, and that fact can empower you..."

  She reached up and put her hand on my mouth.

  "The hearing is at noon," she pleaded. "You could still talk to Dr. Caldwell in the morning."

  "Everything’s been said."

  Daisy looked at me with determination. "No," she said. "You can still make him change his mind. I know you can."

  I flinched as her fingers lightly touched my face. Her voice was an urgent whisper. "Please... please..."