Codella had gone to sleep thinking about Brandon Johnson, and he was still on her mind as she made her way to Manhattan North at seven thirty AM. She felt sympathy for the young man. She didn’t want him to be guilty. She wanted to believe that he was like her, someone who had defied the odds and not succumbed to the dire expectations of norms and statistics. She knew there was the danger of letting her feelings cloud her judgment, but she wasn’t going to rush a verdict against him. When she got to her office, she left a voicemail message for Judith Greenwald, the reference Brandon Johnson had listed on his Park Manor job application. Not until Ms. Greenwald called her back did she realize that the woman was his clinical psychologist. “I’d like to speak with you in person,” Codella said.
“I’m sorry,” Greenwald replied. “But I don’t discuss my clients.”
“You’ve seen the papers, I’m sure,” said Codella. “Your client is in trouble. Let me come and see you.”
There was silence at the other end.
“Please. When can we talk?”
“I can fit you in for fifteen minutes at eleven o’clock,” Greenwald said. “But don’t expect me to violate my oath of confidentiality. It’s not going to happen.”
Greenwald’s office was below sidewalk level in a building on Christopher Street between Seventh Avenue and Waverly Place. She buzzed Codella inside, and the detective followed a narrow corridor that led to a small waiting room where the only window was near the low ceiling and she could see feet and legs passing by on the sidewalk above.
Greenwald appeared and invited Codella into her office. As Codella sat on the olive couch, she had the eerie impression she was about to become the patient in a therapy session. Greenwald occupied what was obviously her usual chair. Then she watched Codella and waited.
Codella got straight to the point. “Two homicides have occurred, Ms. Greenwald—or should I call you doctor?”
The psychologist shrugged. “Take your pick. It’s not important to me.”
“Two people are dead, and your client has been placed at the scene of both deaths. He is currently the most compelling person of interest we have.”
The other woman did not hide her concern.
“I’m here because I need more insight into him.”
“You’re asking me to share information that was given in confidence. I already told you I’m not going to do that. I have a responsibility to Brandon, not to you.” She said this without any rancor.
“Can you tell me anything that would help me eliminate him as a suspect?”
Greenwald leaned forward. “The American Psychological Association code of ethics would compel me to report any child or elder abuse I had learned about in my sessions. That is an exception to my confidentiality that I tell my clients about when we begin our therapeutic relationship.” She crossed her legs and stared at Codella with soft, intensely brown eyes. “I have not reported any information about child or elder abuse in relation to my client.”
Codella nodded gratefully. “So I can assume he never confessed to Lucy Merchant’s murder in front of you.”
“That would be an accurate deduction,” she said.
“Can you tell me anything about him? Just give me some insights.”
“No,” she said bluntly. “But I will speak in general terms about the transgender community, if that would help.”
Codella nodded.
“As a whole, they are as diverse in their interests, ambitions, and emotions as members of the cisgender community.”
“The what?”
“The community of people whose biological gender matches their self-identity. It’s the opposite of transgender. But transgender individuals do have some greater challenges.”
“For instance?”
“They’re more prone to depression. That is a fact corroborated by many studies. And they have a much higher suicide rate—more than forty percent by some estimates. They are routinely harassed on the job. They’re denied employment, often rejected by their families, and often subjected to domestic violence from family members, too. That is the world Brandon Johnson is part of.” Greenwald stared into Codella’s eyes, and Codella understood her unspoken message. Brandon Johnson had suffered these challenges.
“You said they’re more prone to suicide. Are they also more prone to homicide?” Codella asked.
Greenwald shook her head. “People like Brandon feel self-hatred and hopelessness. They lash inward, they punish themselves—even when they deserve to punish others.”
“Did Brandon ever talk to you about a love interest?”
Greenwald looked at her watch. “That question falls into the category of information I will not share.”
“I think he was in love with a young Park Manor administrator who we found dead yesterday. Baiba Lielkaja. I think he was in love with her and became very upset when he found out she was sexually involved with someone else. I need to know if he felt enough anger toward her to harm her.”
“I only have a few more minutes, Detective,” Greenwald said. “Let me be clear about this: If I knew any of my clients had the intent to harm others before they acted on it, I would be obliged to inform the police. I did not do that. If, on the other hand, I learned about something illegal that my client had done after he did it, I would be bound by confidentiality not to tell you.”
Codella knew this, too, but she had hoped Greenwald wouldn’t be so rigid. Brandon had chosen an excellent advocate, but in this case, she wasn’t sure whether his advocate was helping or hurting him. Codella made one more effort. “If your client confessed to murder, you couldn’t tell me, but if he didn’t confess, you could tell me that, couldn’t you, and put my mind at ease?”
Greenwald stared at Codella for a long time before she said, “Answering yes might put your mind at ease, Detective, but it would be a violation. My clients need to know that I live up to my part of the bargain in here. I’m working with a very vulnerable clientele. It would ruin my work with them if they didn’t trust me. I will only say this: I have had no conversations with Brandon since he left my office on Tuesday morning, and that is before this death occurred. Brandon has worked hard in here. He has been through a lot. I respect him tremendously. And I am more than confident he has done nothing to harm anyone.”
She had come as close to answering the question as she would, Codella knew. She stood. “Thank you very much, Dr. Greenwald. I appreciate your time.”