The Imposter (13 page)

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.

"Othello's
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 sound 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, include 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 part 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 folks 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 and 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 silence.   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.

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 pulled 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.

"Damn,
he's as blue as any dead person I've ever seen.  Who the hell are they?"

"Not
good, Commander.   The blue guy is Senator Beau LaMont, our infamous Senator
from Louisiana."

Jack's
face was incredulous.   "No way.  No way that's Beau LaMont!  Couldn't
be!   It looks nothing like him.  This guy is skinny.  LaMont is a pretty heavy
dude from what I remember.  Couldn't be."

Detective
Vern Bridges hailed Jack, walked over, and joined in on the conversation. 
"Commander, you been home yet," Bridges teased.

"What
the hell, Bridges, I just saw you here a few hours ago.  Are you bringing these
bodies in from Kenner?"  Jack grunted as he slapped his detective on the
back.

"Heck
no.  We don't have anything like this out in the burbs.  That’s why I gotta
come to town for some action.  Kenner police just sit around and eat donuts. 
You know that, Commander."

Jack
gave Vern a wide grin.   "Yep, best donuts in the world are on Airline
Highway.   Who the hell are these stiffs, Bridges?"

"Jason's
right,  sir.  Yeah, Commander, that's LaMont.  He had one of those fat
surgeries done a year or so ago and lost over a hundred pounds.   He does look
entirely different, but for sure, that's him.   I mean he looks different
because of his weight.   Not because he's blue, although that's different as
well," Vern stammered and couldn't help but laugh.

Jack
clapped Vern on the back.  "Geez, Bridges, you're a funny man.   You get
all the good ones.  How'd you get so lucky to catch both double homicides? 
Nobody I know has ever been this lucky."

"Guess
it's just because I'm your best detective, Jack," Vern quipped.

 Jack
nodded.  "Who's the other dude?   The one with the slit throat?"

Detective
Bridges shook his head and gave Jack a solemn look.   "Commander, this guy
looks just like those kids did last night.   Do you see any blood?"

"Shit,
no I don't."  Jack looked around.  "Was he killed here or just moved
here after the kill?"

"Don't
know, too early.  But guess who he is, Commander."

Jack
gave Bridges an irritated look, "I don't know, Santa Claus.  Just spit it
out Detective, it's too late for games.  Who the hell is he?"

"It's,
at least according to his wallet, he's Hayes Hunter?"

"Hayes
Hunter? Hayes Hunter?  That name's familiar, but who is he?"  Jack
scratched his head trying to remember.

"He's
the head of the Democratic National Party. 
The
Democratic National
Party, not just Louisiana.  He and LaMont were in NOLA finalizing the plans for
the Democratic National meeting this fall.  They were last seen ....”

"Oh
my God. Oh shit," Jack said just as he heard the Mayor holler his name.  
Jack cursed under his breath and stared at his team.  "We just have all
the luck, don't we guys.  Two fricking politicians dead in my back yard."

Jack
turned around slowly to face the angry, pig-eyed, newly-elected Mayor of New
Orleans.  "Mr.  Mayor, you're out late tonight," Jack said in a
condescending voice.   He saw Jason Aldridge flinch at his sarcasm.  Jack
guessed he didn't make Jason's life any easier. 

Mayor
Anthony Devries ignored Jack and said, "Commander Françoise, let's put our
differences away for a few moments.   What has happened here in our beloved
French Quarter?  Is it true that Senator LaMont and Mr.  Hunter have been
killed?" The mayor's little pig-like eyes were wide and he looked
frightened.

Jack's
eyes narrowed as he gazed at his nemesis, Mayor Anthony Devries.  "Yeah.  
That's right.   Mr.  Mayor, that's precisely correct, and a better question
is:  ’How in the hell did you know'?"

Devries
bristled at the deprecating tone of the Commander, "Really, Francois, tone
it down a bit.   I am your boss, and I am happy to answer your questions.   I
am invested in bringing this to closure immediately.   We have a lot riding on
this.”

"Yeah,
I bet you do ... like questions about whether New Orleans is a safe enough
place to host the Democratic Party, right Mr.  Mayor? 

Devries
ignored the Commander's sarcasm.  He personally hated the Commander and had
tried to block his promotion, but was unsuccessful because Jack had too many
friends.  "And to answer your question, my office received an anonymous
tip less than an hour ago that two VIPs were dead in the Quarter.  We came right
down here immediately.  Now, what do you know?"

"We
know we got two stiffs, one of them is blue and the other looks like someone
tried to cut his head off.  The M.E. hasn't gotten here yet.   You can take a
look for yourself," Jack offered, gesturing expansively with his arm.

Jason
Aldridge interrupted, "Mr.  Mayor, did you trace the call and does anyone
know where the two gentlemen were earlier this evening?"

The
vice-mayor offered up some information.  He caught Jack's attention, as Jack
actually liked the vice-mayor.  "We tried to get the State Police to trace
the call, but the conversation was too short, even as it was transferred
through the city network.  Our security people got nothing.”

Jack
introduced Detective Vern Bridges to the mayor's entourage and announced he was
the lead detective on the case.  

Bridges
gave an update on the murders, as best he could, and informed the mayor that
the M.E. should be along shortly.  

The
mayor looked around impatiently and said, ""Detective Bridges, is
that all you know?  That's really nothing.  All we really know is that they are
dead."

Bridges
was getting pissed, "Mr.  Mayor, you are correct.  We don't know much, but
the bodies are hardly cold and the M.E. hasn't arrived yet.  We'll know a great
deal more when he or she does arrive.  One thing we do know is that both men
were last seen together at one of the Vampire Bars downtown.  And, that was
about two hours ago.”

For
a moment there was total silence in the air at the crime scene.  Even the
police sirens seemed to cease.

Shit,
Jack
thought to himself.
   It just keeps getting better.