No Cure for Murder (40 page)

“I like to hear it, but I know it whether or not you say the words. I remember it like it was yesterday, the day we left Auschwitz. Your hand warmed me, warmed my soul...I still feel the heat to this day.”

“You’re getting sentimental in your old age.”

“And, you’re not?”

Jacob kissed her, then walked to the old Volvo. He drove into Oakland and parked near Jefferson Square and walked to the Alameda County Jail. He heard the roar of nearby freeways and smelled the acerbic fumes of passing traffic.

Jacob had a visceral reaction to the towering white building with barred windows. Physically far removed from the look of a concentration camp, it still evoked painful memories. Its labyrinthine corridors, steel doors, monitoring cameras and surly uniformed guards reinforced his uneasiness.

Jacob jumped when the door slammed behind him as he entered the attorney’s small meeting room. A steel table sat in the middle with one chair on each side. On the ceiling, he saw banks of cool fluorescent lights and registers emitting cold streams of air and carrying the distant murmur of men. The familiar murmur of caged men chilled him further.

Slamming doors echoed in the corridor as Zoe and her guard approached. The guard undid her shackles, placed her in the chair opposite Jacob and handcuffed her to the table. She straightened her orange coveralls that held the black stenciled letters, PRISONER, and half-smiled at Jacob.

Zoe’s eyes filled. She reached into her coveralls for a tissue and blew her nose. “But I do, Jacob. This is difficult for me. Of all people, I thought you’d understand...maybe even forgive.”

Jacob turned to face her. “You’re the monster who murdered my patients...my friends... decent people of more valuable to the world than you’ll ever be. You snuffed out their lives like they were nothing. You feel nothing except the humiliation of being caught. I don’t think you’re capable of remorse.”

“You only think you know me. You have no idea what I’ve been through, how I suffered. If anyone...just one of them did what they should, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Jacob looked again at the ceiling. “Who are you talking about?”

“My mother, my father, even Bernie. Then came the parade of counselors, psychiatrists, psychologists and advisors of every stripe. They failed me. Please, Jacob, don’t you fail me, too.”

She’s unbelievable. Lola was right. It’s easy to see the futility of treating her.

“How can you be so bright and at the same time be devoid of insight into your own behavior, Zoe? You never take responsibility for any of your actions. It’s always someone’s fault.”

“I do take responsibility. I’m not trying to get off scot-free. I need treatment...I know I must pay for my actions, but spending the rest of my life in jail...that’s too much.”

“This won’t do any good, Zoe, but try for a moment to put yourself in the place of those you killed.”

Zoe placed her arms across her chest.

“These people weren’t strangers. They wanted to live, had every right to live. You stole everything from them and their families.”

“Don’t forget P.J. and Joshua Friedman...I helped them...I ended their misery.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart? You’re so transparent it’s laughable. Be sure, Zoe, that I’ll do everything I can to insure that you go away for the rest of your life.”

“You can’t do that,” she said, straining against her handcuff.

Jacob stood to leave. “Watch me.”

Zoe tried to stand but the steel cuffs held her in place. Her face blanched then crimsoned. “You’re a vile, disgusting old man, Jacob. Your look...even your smell...makes me sick. I hate your paternalism and sanctimonious self-righteous attitude. More than anything, I hate your patronizing superiority. I have only one regret, that I failed to end your sorry life.”

Jacob smiled. “Thank you, Zoe. You proved that even an old dog can learn his lesson. I plan to visit you in court and especially I’ll make sure I’m there for your sentencing.”

As he knocked on the steel door to leave, Zoe stood. “Don’t underestimate me, Jacob. Others have and lived to regret it.”

Jacob shook his head, and then departed.

Chapter Seventy-Five

The Wiley W. Manuel Superior Court for the County of Alameda sat near the 880 Freeway on Washington Street in Oakland.

Media vans surrounded the multilevel white courthouse with their microwave dishes raised for transmission.

Members of the public and the press filled all the seats in Judge Horace Kemper’s court as Alan Hayes and his team entered. Zoe sat at the defense table, wearing a muted rose Prada suit with a form fitting skirt just above the knee and an ivory satin-silk blouse. She’d arranged her chestnut hair in a French roll.

She looks great, Alan thought.

After jury selection, Alan and Kevin Martin battled before the judge in the absence of the jury on the critical issue: Zoe’s psychiatric defense.

Following eight days of testimony with multiple expert witnesses, the judge allowed Zoe’s psychiatric defense with the comment, “It’s your funeral, counselor.”

The trial lasted six weeks with detailed presentation of forensics of the killings and the attempted murder, expert psychiatric witnesses galore, and Jacob and Lola’s eyewitness testimony of her attempt to kill him with intravenous insulin.

“Yes, and since my wife is a practicing psychotherapist and I consulted on her cases, I’ve had much more exposure to psychiatric patients than the average family practitioner.”

“Objection overruled,” said the judge.

“Continue, Doctor,” said Alan.

“Zoe was smart, beautiful, socially skillful...patients loved her. She came from a great family. Her grandfather was my partner in practice many years ago in New York. While I understand that psychiatric problems don’t recognize class or intellectual differences, I just couldn’t believe that Zoe was this ill.”

“Yes, but they were the ordinary problems one might see in working out relationships in any group. Issues of authority, responsibility, and professional concerns about practicing medicine.”

“You were concerned about her skills as a physician?”

“Not at all. Zoe was well trained at one of the country’s best programs in Family Practice. She had superior intelligence and knowledge.”

“So what was the problem?”

“You’ve heard it from all the psychiatrists. Zoe is a narcissist, and working or living with one isn’t easy. I don’t think I can add anything more than you’ve heard already.”

“In all the time you worked with Dr. Spelling, you didn’t recognize a level of hatred she must have had for you that drove her to kill your patients and eventually compel her to try to kill you?”

Jacob shifted in his chair. “What I saw were the actions of a narcissist trying to assert herself at my expense. I thought of it as a stage in her maturing process. It wasn’t necessary to question my judgment or subvert me in front of professional colleagues and nurses...that hurt. I expected that over time, we’d come to a working relationship that suited us both, and in any case, I wasn’t going to live forever. None of that gave me a hint that she was capable of doing what she did.”

“How do you feel about Zoe Spelling now?”

“At first I was shocked and then outraged at her despicable acts. She’s responsible for multiple deaths and attempted murders, including mine. None of it makes any sense except in the context of mental illness, and right now all I can feel is a sense of sadness and the waste of valuable lives, Zoe’s included.”

“I object to that question, your Honor,” said Alan. “Dr. Weizman is a victim of the defendant’s actions, and as such, he cannot answer that question objectively.”

“Dr. Weizman is not on the stand to give objective testimony, the jury understands that, but as a victim, they are entitled to his opinion.”

“My wife and I survived the death camps where the Nazi’s slaughtered millions of innocents. Those who participated in these heinous acts sought to escape personal responsibility too...how could this be possible?

“The first step was to dehumanize the victims; Jews, gypsies, homosexuals, and the mentally ill...it’s easier to kill those recognized as a lower form of life, like the killing of an insect. Even so, what allowed seemingly normal people to commit these acts. Some were psychopathic and could kill under any circumstances and without empathy. Some bought the state propaganda and acted, they believed, as patriots, to protect the state from evil, and some simply had no choice...kill or be killed.”

“We’re getting a bit off track here,” said Alan.

“Can you answer Mr. Martin’s question, Doctor?” asked the judge.

“Like prison camp murderers, I believe Zoe Spelling, as sick as she was, had a choice. She had lucid periods where she recognized that what she was doing was wrong, and she should have sought help. After we discovered that Zoe committed these murders, I felt an element of personal failure, and yes, sadness too. Now, I find her lacking in remorse and doing everything possible to avoid punishment. To answer your question, Mr. Walter, I hold Zoe Spelling personally responsible for these deaths and all the misery she created.”

Chapter Seventy-Six

Alan Hayes faced the jury for his closing argument. They’d been attentive and he hoped a little sympathetic to Marty Abrams and his explanation of Zoe’s mental disorder. Marty scrupulously refused to use narcissism to excuse her actions.

Alan faced the jury. “This is a tragic case in so many ways. Zoe Spelling senselessly took the lives of the innocent and made attempts on others.” He paused, looking across the jury’s faces.

Zoe sat at the defense table, head down.

“Then why am I standing before you?

“Mr. Martin, the DA, will tell you that these acts are a simple reflection of evil and that such loathsome acts require the harshest punishment. He will also tell you that Zoe Spelling is a physician who swore an oath to ‘do no harm’, but abused the trust placed in her by her patients, her colleagues, and even Brier Hospital itself. We agree.