Authors: Dorothy Phaire
“So the whole thing smelled rotten to the press,” said Deek, “that’s why they dug deeper.”
“Leenae Lewis and her brother may be inventing a fairy-tale about their whereabouts, but my instincts tell me either Brenda Johnson or her mother planned this latest insurance fraud or they hatched the scheme together,” said Bradford. “It’s no surprise that Mrs. Adams hopes to get a nice chunk of change if we can’t convict her daughter.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past Irene Adams, but Brenda is innocent,” Renee insisted.
“One thing seems certain, the victim had a lot of enemies,” said Deek, “Now we got Davon Lewis doing time for mail fraud nine years ago while his partner, Jerome Johnson walked.”
“Tell me, Dr. Hayes, how did this dude, Jerome Johnson, a drug addict who didn’t have a pot to piss in, get two fine honeys to lose their mind over him?” asked Bradford, “One at home and one on stand by when I can’t even get an ugly woman to give me directions.”
“I wouldn’t want to comment on your personal failure to attract women, Lieutenant,” said Renee, “But Jerome probably appealed to women because he projected a ‘bad boy’ image. From dealing with love-obsessed female patients, I’ve discovered that their attraction to ‘bad boys’ is one reason these women are in therapy in the first place. They always seem to go for the ‘bad boy’ over a nice, clean-cut, stable guy. Not that you’re ‘the nice, clean-cut’ type either Detective Bradford.”
“Sorry, I asked,” he said looking dejected.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Brenda for a moment. May I?” Renee asked Bradford.
“Be my guest, Doc. She sure as hell ain’t opened up to me yet,” he said. “Me and Deek can watch from the observation room. She won’t know we’re behind the two-way mirror and might tell you something she wouldn’t say to me. So that’s probably not a bad idea.”
Renee opened the door of the interrogation room and walked in. Brenda didn’t look up. The room felt like an isolation chamber: bleached-out gray walls, no windows or telephone—nothing but a table and three uncomfortable chairs. A tape recorder, some paper for her statement, and a cup of water sat on top the black, metal tabletop. Brenda sat shivering at the far end of the room. She looked uncomfortable and frightened slumped forward in a straight-back wooden chair with elbows on the table and her hand barely holding up her drooping head. Renee didn’t see a thermostat to turn up the heat and noticed that the four, bare walls didn’t even have a light switch.
“Brenda?”
When she recognized Renee’s voice, Brenda jerked her head up.
“Dr. Renee? I’m so glad you’re here. Have you seen my mother? The son of Satan lied and said she went home but I don’t believe him. She wouldn’t leave me alone in this place.”
Renee couldn’t argue with Brenda’s new nickname for Detective Mel Bradford. It somehow did seem to fit. She was glad she didn’t have to outright lie and just shook her head ‘no’ to Brenda’s question because she really had not seen Irene Adams yet. Renee took Brenda’s hands in both of hers to warm them and tried to console her.
“Brenda, I realize it’s hard but can you tell me what happened to your first child nine years ago?”
Brenda hesitated for a moment before speaking in a whispered voice. “Dr. Renee, little Janica’s death still haunts me to this day. That’s why I’ve never talked about it to anyone, but since it’s plastered all over the news I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”
She looked down and closed her eyes briefly. “It was really hard on Jerome too. That’s when he first started experimenting with crack. Before that he only smoked weed but he needed something stronger to wipe out our baby’s death. I had my Lord and Savior to see me through it, but Jerome had never been strong in faith. After it happened, we never talked about it. But things were never the same between us.” Renee nodded for Brenda to continue.
“I know you’d say that wasn’t healthy to keep it locked inside, but we wanted to forget. Even though the doctors said Janica died from Sudden Infant Death syndrome and there was nothing we could have done to prevent it, I think we blamed each other. It’s something I never wanted to talk or think about ever again. Even when Baby Buddha was missing for almost 24 hours, I wouldn’t allow myself to think, what if it’s happening all over again. I had to believe I would get Justin back. Or that would have been the end for me. There would have been no point in me going on. After the loss of my first child, any time the memory came back, I blocked it out again as if it never happened. I guess Jerome tried to forget too and drugs became his crutch. I know he was still hurting. I guess that’s why I kept taking him back.”
“I understand, Brenda,” said Renee, and looked softly into her eyes. “I really do, more than you realize.” Renee thought about her own teenage pregnancy that was stolen from her while she slept in an anesthetic state. From that time on, she had never been able to successfully carry a pregnancy to term. Renee thoroughly understood the need to erase bad memories through disassociation.
“We broke up soon after Janica died but got back together five years later. Then I got pregnant with Justin. He was our second chance. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.”
“What did you do with the $15,000 insurance money you received after Janica’s death?”
“That was nine years ago. Before we lost our daughter to SIDS, I was an unwed, 19 year-old mother, Dr. Renee. When I got pregnant I dropped out of community college to move in with Jerome. I had only finished one semester. My parents disapproved and refused to help if I didn’t go back to school and give the baby up for adoption. But I just couldn’t give her up once they put her in my arms,” said Brenda, “Besides, Jerome and I were in love. Or at least I thought we were.”
Brenda hesitated. Renee prompted her to continue. “Go on, Brenda.”
“Well, right after Janica was born of course I couldn’t work. Then Jerome lost his job and I ended up selling my car so I could apply for welfare. A few weeks later our baby daughter died in her sleep. Jerome talked me into filing the insurance claim to get Janica’s death benefits. But the money didn’t help.”
Brenda stared at her folded hands as she spoke. “Jerome slid further into depression and drugs. It didn’t take long for him to smoke up all that insurance money on crack. Especially when Leenae and his homies became his full-time “getting high” crew and kept him dependent. That’s when I got fed up and left him … then one day out of the blue, Jerome and I ran into each other at a nightclub. It was obvious our feelings for each other were still strong. This time he promised to cleanup and to kick his addiction for good. So eventually we got married and the rest is history as they say. So here we are.”
“Brenda, I need to go outside and talk to the Detectives handling your case. Will you be okay for a while?”
“Sure, Dr. Renee. Thanks for listening. Do you think you could ask that Lieutenant Bradford if I could use the rest room?
“Of course, Brenda. Can I get you anything?”
“Maybe a cup of tea if they have it.”
“I’ll see what I can do, dear,” she said and patted her hand, before exiting out the door of the interrogation room. She knew Deek and Lt. Bradford had heard every word.
A
f
ter Renee left the interrogation room, she asked Detective Bradford if he had followed through on Brenda’s request for tea. She knew he had heard them behind the mirror. Bradford assured her that he already instructed someone to bring Brenda a cup of tea. He asked one of the guards to escort Brenda to the ladies room as she had also requested. Renee followed Bradford and Deek back to the squad room to discuss what Brenda had revealed to Renee.
“So I’m the son of Satan, huh?” snarled Bradford, “Why the hell didn’t she give me some straight answers when I asked her about the infant's death and the insurance money she collected back then?”
“I believe Brenda has been suffering from a disassociated personality disorder since the tragedy nine years ago,” said Dr. Renee. “When you tried to bring up those memories, her natural mental defenses threw her into disassociation.”
“Doc, I’m shy a few cups of coffee to comprehend the drift of your lingo,” said Bradford, “Can you explain what the hell you’re talking about in plain English?”
“Disassociation occurs when someone takes himself or herself out of a situation. They’re not present on an emotional level and they don't have control over it,” Renee explained in laymen's terms. “That way they don’t feel the horror and pain. They can actually block it out. So they disassociate and remove themselves mentally.”
“I still don’t get what you’re talking about, Doc,” said Bradford, waving his hand away. “It doesn’t matter anyway ‘cause I don’t buy it. Brenda Johnson’s pity party is over.”
“Perhaps, you could establish trust with her if you’d turn up the heat in that icebox you call an interrogation room,” said Renee, “It’s like the Antarctica in there.”
“Yeah, I could do that but I’m not. Look, this ain’t the Hyatt, Doc. I don’t want Brenda Johnson or her mother getting too comfortable in our interrogation rooms. When they’ve had enough, they’ll talk and tell me what I wanna know.”
Bradford and Deek entered the interrogation room where Brenda waited, while this time Renee watched from behind the two-way mirror. Bradford turned the tape recorder to record and continued his questioning. He assumed his usual domineering position for interrogations and loomed over Brenda with his arms folded across his overhanging stomach as Deek stood nearby.
“Neighbors heard an argument at your place between your husband and Leenae Lewis about a week ago,” said Detective Bradford, “Do you know anything about that?”
Brenda remained mute and refused to answer any of his questions. When her secretary shutdown from Lt. Bradford’s ‘tough guy’ approach, Renee couldn’t resist the urge to peep in through the two-way mirror at Irene Adams, still waiting in interrogation room 3. Irene Adams, dressed in a fitted, aqua-blue, jacquard suit, paced the small, enclosed space like a caged tigress. Her silver fox collared, gray mink coat lay draped over a chair.
Renee could never let Brenda know what her mother did to incriminate her own daughter. Most children assumed their mothers loved them unconditionally and they’re devastated to find out otherwise. But somebody needed to straighten out Mrs. Irene Adams and Renee decided to volunteer for the job. Brenda’s mother was a greedy egocentric bitch but could she also be a murderer? Renee didn’t think Irene was the type to get her hands dirty by doing the deed herself, but she could have easily hired or tricked someone gullible like Hercules to carry out the crime for her. Irene Adams’ intense hatred of her son-in-law was common knowledge and now police had uncovered another possible motive—financial gain. She desperately needed to pay off her personal debts so she could resume her frivolous, self-serving lifestyle.
Renee slipped out the observation room. The officer guarding the door to interrogation room 3 knew she was working on a case with the detectives so he allowed her to enter. Renee was glad the room was soundproof so she could tell that woman exactly what was on her mind.
“Oh, it’s only you,” sighed Irene, turning around when she heard the door open. “What do you want? Where’s that fat-ass, Cro-Magnon piece of shit whose been keeping me cooped up in this hellhole all morning for no good reason?” Hours waiting in an interrogation room had removed all semblance of Irene Adams’ phony, high-class manners. Though she was never effective at keeping up that charade for long. “Where the hell is he?” Irene spewed, glancing at her watch. “I have an appointment at the spa this afternoon.”
Renee approached Brenda’s mother with a determined look.
“May I speak to you for a minute, Mrs. Adams?” she asked firmly.
“What the hell do you want?” Irene sneered in a tone even more biting than usual.
“I just thought I’d warn you, watch that you don’t implicate yourself in this crime by letting your greed get the best of you.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” she said, cocking her head to one side and folding her arms under her breast.
“I know it was you who called Brenda’s insurance company right after Jerome’s murder,” said Renee. “If you had thought about someone else besides yourself for half a second, you would have realized that pretending to be Brenda and initiating the claim right after her husband’s death would cause police to think your daughter was a suspect. But maybe you really didn’t care about that.”
“I have never intentionally hurt my little girl,” Irene raged. “I love her and she knows it. I don’t need to prove a damn thing to you.”
“Mrs. Adams, you don’t even know the meaning of the word love. And if that wasn’t bad enough,” Renee continued, “when Brenda did not automatically receive her payout on the claim you initiated, you had to think of another way to get your hands on some fast cash, didn’t you? It’s a shame about that pesky, little insurance stipulation that a person suspected of intentionally causing a policy holder’s death is prohibited from collecting his insurance,” said Renee, shaking her head sarcastically while glaring at Mrs. Adams.
“So you instructed your lover to reveal past evidence on someone else that also happened to lead police to damaging information about Brenda. All that scheming just so you could collect the reward money your husband put up to find legitimate leads.”
“That was not my fault,” Irene yelled, “If Marvin had just given me the goddamn money in the first place I wouldn’t have to resort to these tactics. And who knew Hercules was such a fucking idiot? I realize now he’s only good for one thing.”
“You are beyond pathetic, Mrs. Adams. I don’t understand how a mother can betray her own daughter and still look at herself in the mirror as much as you do without reproach.”
“Who the hell are you to judge me, you tight-ass bitch?” Irene shrieked. “I’m not too much of a lady to whip your ass right here so you’d better leave while you still have a chance.”
“I will leave Mrs. Adams because it’s obvious you don’t see how you’ve hurt Brenda. Talking to you is a waste of time. And just so we understand each other,” said Renee, “the only reason I’m keeping quiet about what you’ve done is to avoid hurting her more, as well as, your husband who I don’t know at all, but feel immensely sorry for.” Renee tore off a page from the notepad sitting on the table and scribbled the name and telephone number for her colleague, Dr. Helen Stone. She slid the paper across the desk in front of Mrs. Adams.