The Amygdala Hijack

By Colin T Nelson

Ted Rohrbacher takes on the questionable defense of an old friend charged with murdering his wife and Ted thinks he has a shot at winning---because the body has disappeared. During his investigation, Ted discovers his client suffers from a rare and uncontrollable mental condition called the Amygdala Hijack that can cause people to act violently.
Ted has a sinking feeling his friend and client may have really killed his wife---but couldn’t control himself. Can he use the Amygdala Hijack as a defense?
Ted struggles to solve the mystery; fights the prosecutor, and even his client to win. The suspense builds as the trial gets closer while the story ends with a shocking surprise the reader never sees coming!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Colin T Nelson
• Release date: Jun 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311704863

Colin T Nelson

I have practiced criminal law both as a prosecutor and defense lawyer for over 30 years and have some wonderful, crazy, touching, terrible stories to tell. I write mysteries/suspense that put people in large conflicts: against religious intolerance, terrorists, menacing government agencies, dangerous criminal clients, and personal challenges.For the benefit of my readers, I have three series of books started. Two involve crime and courtrooms---the Zehra Henning series and the Ted Rohrbacher series. I have also started a new series with Pete Chandler who travels to exotic places in the world to solve mysteries---usually places I've been to and have done a ton of research.I add true things that I'm curious about and will interest readers. And, I always try to make my stories "page turners" that I hope you can't put down!

Book preview

Chapter One

Murder victim Mina Jensen never had a funeral; was never buried, cremated or even properly mourned. Ted Rohrbacher, a former criminal lawyer, received a call from her husband and Ted’s childhood friend begging for help. In a frantic voice, Dan Jensen said, There’s a good chance I could be charged with killing my wife. Since Ted knew the victim also, he was hesitant to even talk with Danny. Years ago, Ted had been a successful prosecutor, but after the disaster that ruined his career, Ted had vowed never to go back into a courtroom or do criminal law again. He didn’t even read the crime news.

When Ted protested, Dan turned on the guilt. I’m innocent. Mina and I had our problems, but I couldn’t do something this gruesome. You’re the only friend I can turn to.

Dan, I told you: I’m not taking cases like this anymore. I don’t want to go into a courtroom again if I can help it. I can refer you to—

Just talk to me. I’m scared.

Their history went back to the high school hockey team. Also, Mina was a cousin to Ted’s wife. So when Dan had married Mina, the relationship became even closer. Ted had finally relented and agreed to at least meet with Jensen.

Ted waited for him now in his office in the newest steel and glass building along France Avenue, south of Minneapolis. Two years ago he’d joined a boutique law firm that specialized in tax and estate planning—basically making wealthy people richer. After years in criminal work, Ted felt calm and peaceful for once. He was in his early forties and still had time to build a significant and lucrative practice.

Estate planning was slow, dominated by filling in the forms, and once he’d learned the law, these were routine cases that Ted could do with his eyes closed. Fine by him.

In his office, he felt hermetically sealed inside and could look through the floor-to-ceiling glass to see over the roof of the Galleria shopping mall. Rain clouds drifted toward him from the north and colored the air pewter. That caused the sumac bushes along the edges of the parking lot to glow bright green.

While waiting for Dan’s appointment, Ted booted up his Google calendar and saw that he was scheduled for a lengthy meeting with an elderly couple who wanted to set up a trust to insulate their wealth from estate taxes when they died. Most of his work was like this: holding the dry hands of his clients to assure them their money would remain in their hands. The phone buzzed quietly, and the receptionist’s silky voice said, Daniel Jensen is here for his appointment.

Ted reached for his father’s blue blazer from the hanger behind the door. Ted had inherited it after the old guy’s death a few years ago. Even with Ted’s muscular shoulders, the jacket fit uncomfortably—like the memory of his father. His death had left unresolved problems.

The blazer covered an expensive white shirt and a Ralph Lauren silk tie, which he tightened against his neck. Ted left his office, turned into the hallway, felt the soft cushion of the carpeting, and came out to the small lobby. It was decorated in tan tones with aluminum panels to create privacy. The architect the firm had hired referred to it as Frank Geary does a law firm. To Ted, it just seemed cold. The receptionist nodded her head toward the man sitting in one of the chairs. Dan Jensen was squeezed between its arms and looked relieved to be able to get up.

Ted’s wife, Laurie, and her cousin, Mina, were very close. But Ted had not done much with Mina and didn’t know her well. Neither had Ted seen Dan since Dan’s business started getting busier. Ted hadn’t seen him for a few years. The change was startling.

Dan had worked as an MP, military police, with the army in Afghanistan during the war. Ted wasn’t sure what he’d done while over there. Although Dan was still broad in the chest and handsome, the rest of him looked worn out. His stomach sagged and his head hung forward as if it was burdened by some weight. His clothing used to be tailored and expensive. Now he wore sloppy jeans and a red golf shirt that was stretched out at the collar, exposing a tan line where the neck met the chest.

Thanks, Teddy. I really need help on this. Dan gripped Ted’s hand tightly. In spite of the cool air in the office, sweat glistened across Danny’s face. He swiped it with a bare hand.

Ted led him into a dimly-lit conference room behind a sage-colored glass wall. In that sanctuary, it was quiet. Ted could smell the over-stuffed leather chairs that surrounded a long table.

Coffee, water? Ted offered. He called to get two bottled waters from the kitchen in the back room. When a clerk returned with the water, Dan hunched over the table with a tan file folder in front of him. He removed a crumpled paper from it. Ted set the sweating bottle on the table. Dan pulled it toward himself, leaving a streak of moisture across the wood. He shoved the paper toward Ted.

Before he read it, Ted studied Dan. His face looked heavy, as if there was too much skin for the size of his face, and he had intense blue eyes that darted around the room. He hadn’t shaved for several days—probably not from stylish considerations.

This isn’t me, Dan protested.

Slow down. Ted raised his palm toward him and picked up the paper. It was wrinkled like an old newspaper and Ted spread it on the table to flatten it out. It was a formal complaint, drafted by the prosecutor to initiate a criminal case. As he looked at it, Ted’s chest tightened. He’d sworn that he’d never do this work anymore. It was too painful.

The complaint was labeled, State of Minnesota, Plaintiff, versus Daniel J. Jensen, Defendant. District Court, Fourth Judicial District. His date of birth was listed as July 17, 1972. That was followed by several paragraphs of facts that alleged what the prosecutor thought Danny had done that made him guilty of a crime. The last portion of the complaint read:

Offense

Count 1: Murder in the Second Degree (Felony) Minn. Stat. #609.19, Subd. (1), #609.11

That on or about May 10, 2013, in Minnetonka, in Hennepin County, Minnesota, Daniel J. Jensen, while using a firearm or other dangerous weapons, caused the death of Mina Jensen, a human being, without premeditation but with intent to effect the death of that person.

When Ted had finished reading, he looked at Danny and tried to hide the revulsion that he felt. Even after years of representing criminals, Ted found some cases were so upsetting that he still had a hard time believing humans could act the way they did. This was one of those cases. Unlike on the TV news, where murders shared time with cartoons and ads for underarm deodorant, when Ted had practiced criminal law it brought him face to face with reality and death. Sometimes it was too real—especially when he’d known the victim. He couldn’t work on this. Besides, the case was impossible to win.

Ted noticed the complaint had not been stamped by the clerk of court. It hadn’t been formally filed. Technically, Dan wasn’t charged with a crime—yet.

What am I gonna do? Dan lifted his head and grinned in a weak fashion. His teeth were new: white and straight. A detective named O’Brien gave it to me. Said he’d like to see me pay for what I did.

This is serious. If it gets charged the maximum penalty is forty years in prison. Ted could see the fear in Dan’s eyes.

Dan’s chest sagged against the table. O’Brien told me they were still investigating, but that he knew I was guilty.

Undoubtedly, the press was all over this one. Lots of spilled blood tended to do that.

Ted sighed. Mina was my wife’s cousin, for God’s sake. Ethically, I can’t take this case. He folded the complaint and pushed it over the table toward Dan. It gave Ted an easy way out.

But I’m innocent. Can’t you defend me then?

How could a lawyer refuse an innocent man? Ted looked at his watch and decided to at least listen to him. Ted said to him, Okay. Let’s start with the alleged facts. Ted retrieved and unfolded the complaint. He started to read. The police say that you called them and thought your wife had been killed. They met you at your house at Lake Minnetonka and found blood spatters on the wall of the bedroom, lots of blood on the floor in the outline of a human, a bullet lodged in the wall, and streak marks of blood across the floor.

Dan nodded.

But you didn’t call right away.

I wasn’t sure—

Ted interrupted him. And you had several domestic problems with your wife prior to this. Neighbors had called the police several times, and your wife had even told her friends that she was afraid of you, and that you owned several guns.

Well, yeah. I needed them when I worked in Afghanistan. But. . .

The preliminary forensic testing of your clothing indicated the presence of lots of blood—your wife’s blood.

I can’t explain that.

What? Ted jerked back in his chair.

See, I passed out. Mina and I were fighting and drinking, I admit that, but then there was someone else in the bedroom. I don’t know who, and I don’t know how he got there, but the fight switched to him and me. I snapped or something, because I can’t remember anything after that.

You don’t know anything about this?

"I mean, I saw it when I woke up, of course. But I didn’t do it. I’ve got some problems from my time in the war, but I couldn’t do something like—this. She was my wife. His eyes moistened with tears. You know me."

Ted took a deep breath. He thought of Mina. Bright and cute and always pushing the envelope in life. When the family had called Laurie about Mina’s death, both she and Ted cried. Several days later when Dan had called Ted, he told Laurie about it.

She’d asked him, How can you even think of representing someone who could have killed my cousin?

I’m not going to. But any good defense lawyer knows everyone is entitled to a strong defense.

Of course, but you can’t get involved.

I don’t want to and I won’t, Ted assured her.

Now, sitting in front of Dan, Ted wondered how he could avoid the case. He’d have to be honest with Dan. It would be tough, and there might be nothing anyone could do to get Dan out of trouble—even if he was innocent. Ted felt sorry for him. Printed on the bottom of the complaint but unsigned so far was the name Sanford Rogin III, an experienced and tough prosecutor. Ted had worked with him in the past and didn’t like anything about the guy. The evidence against Dan looked bad. Ted would send him to a competent criminal defense lawyer and be able to face Laurie and the family later.

Setting the complaint on the table, Ted changed the subject. What did you do in Afghanistan?

I was in Military Police and they sent me there for four—count ‘em, four deployments. We provided security for the civilians posted there. I got extra pay for hazardous duty. But finally it really messed with my mind.

What’s the problem?

Post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m seeing a shrink at the VA hospital, but I don’t think it’s working. Trouble is, they don’t have any magic pills to make it all go away. Sometimes I just snap. He looked up at Ted. So, you’ll take my case, huh?

What happened? He could smell English Leather cologne on Dan—something too old for a guy his age.

Dan’s eyes poked all around the room, and he kept looking over his shoulder at the door to the lobby. Teddy, I didn’t imagine it’d be that bad in Afghanistan. I was only a cop, after all. Then one day my best friend suddenly blows up from an IED. I see his body come apart in large chunks and the blood splatters all over my face. Dan paused to watch Ted’s reaction, and then said, And it got worse after that. Dan’s body jerked and he started to hyperventilate. A wheezing sound came from deep in his chest. I can’t tell you—

Ted jumped up and yelled for the receptionist to bring more water. She rushed in with another bottle of mineral water. Danny gulped it so fast that he started to choke. In five minutes, he had recovered.

Danny gasped. You should see my psych reports.

Ted didn’t say anything, but he thought about the case. He felt a tingling in his stomach. He had to admit there were some tempting legal aspects. Then he thought of his wife. Danny, I’m not sure that I’m the right lawyer for you.

I know I can’t pay a lot right now. Dan’s eyes, rimmed in red, bored into Ted. Sweat stained the shirt in the middle of his chest.

Huh?

I know it looks bad. When I got back from over there, I started my own security firm here. I’ve made a ton of money. Unfortunately, there have been a few tough spots. But we’ve got some equity in the house. I’ll get it out to pay you.

Danny, it’s not that, Ted lied. So that’s why Danny had come to Ted—he couldn’t afford any other lawyer. Ted stood and moved beside Danny and patted his shoulder. In Ted’s mind he pictured Dan’s big house on Lake Minnetonka where the murder had occurred. I just think a different lawyer would be better for your case.

Dan leaped up from his chair and slammed it backward. I need you right now. I’m more scared than I ever was in Afghanistan.

Okay. Ted patted the air with his palms to calm down Dan. Ted softened his voice. I remember the prosecutor from years ago, and maybe you could cut a deal.

No, he yelled. I didn’t do it.

Ted sighed and turned to look out the window. A breeze lifted the leaves on the linden trees around the parking lot. It looked like they were waving at him, warning him. He felt the tingling in his stomach again. He knew what it meant. What if Dan was really innocent?

Ted thought of Laurie, and with the knowledge that he’d have to face her and the family about the case, Ted decided to help Danny—but only temporarily. He would at least look into the mental illness aspects and see if that could help Dan. Then as soon as possible, he’d try to get the prosecutor to drop the case. All right. I’ll check into things, Ted assured him.

Dan’s case was certainly unusual, and that intrigued Ted. After all, he had never seen one like it in his entire career. Even though Danny could be charged with second degree murder and the case against him seemed strong, the prosecutor had a major problem with the evidence to prove his guilt. It was also the reason there hadn’t been a funeral or a burial for Mina Jensen—no one had found her body.

Chapter Two

The next morning, Ted drove his convertible Mercedes into northeast Minneapolis. He would need professional help to look into the case. When Ted turned onto Marshall Avenue, he approached a row of new townhouses. Several large blocks of granite grew out of the ground in front of the houses, each piece carved into a beautiful sculpture. He called them the Stonehenge of Marshall Avenue.

Samantha Carter lived in the third house on the left.

Years ago, he had worked with her when she was a Minneapolis homicide detective and Ted was in the prosecutor’s office. After twenty years, she’d qualified for a pension, which she grabbed and went into private investigation. Now she was a single woman who was divorced from the father of their two children. When her sister had been killed by a boyfriend, Sam had also raised two of her sister’s children while holding down the job as a cop. All the children were grown now and usually didn’t live at home anymore. But sometimes, between college enrollment and jobs, they dropped in for a few weeks at a time for the free food and to wash their clothing.

He parked and walked the few steps to her door. As usual, she was late. As he waited, Ted thought of one thing that made working with Sam difficult—she often acted like his mother and lectured to him. Maybe he should get back in the car and forget everything. Laurie had called shortly after the meeting with Danny. Ted had told her that he’d temporarily represent him but couldn’t take the case.

What the hell? she shouted. I thought you told me—

He hasn’t been charged yet. I’m just going to check on a few things for him. His mental health, for instance. If I find something in his defense, I can approach the prosecutor to get the case thrown out right away.

Ted, don’t do this.

Don’t worry. I’m meeting with Samantha Carter. Maybe she can work on that. He had felt his chest tighten in preparation for another fight with her. They were the only couple he knew who had remarried after a divorce. Ted didn’t want to upset the balance for any reason.

I’m sorry, she apologized. It’s just that I’m so upset about Mina. Get home early. Matt wants to talk about colleges. Her voice had dropped to a lower register. One that she knew could hook him. And I want to see you.

He knocked on Sam’s door a third time, and the sound of a saxophone floated through the front window. Samantha played jazz with a small combo in town. She wasn’t a professional musician, but she always said, At least people pay to hear us play. He heard her slither down the scale, bending notes as the solo came to an end. Even without her back-up group, the music made the skin on Ted’s neck tingle.

She yelled from the back room. That you, Teddy? The doors always open for you.

She stepped into the room. Hey, T-man. Sam brought energy with her into the room. Unlike most people who saw the world in grays, Samantha saw the world in Technicolor. She was in good shape, but now into middle age, her weight had started to drop lower on her body. Although she wasn’t beautiful, her smile and personality overwhelmed most people who met her. Today she wore a golden wig.

Ted noticed the four African masks that guarded either side of the fireplace. Between them was a portrait of a young African girl. Her face glowed while a tear streaked down her cheek. Ted cocked his head to the side while he looked back at Sam’s hair. Color du jour?

Hey, when you’re as cool as I am, everything’s always golden.

Meaning you got up late and didn’t want to mess with your hair.

At least I got more of my own that you do. She unsnapped the alto sax from the neck strap and set it on a small stand near the couch. From her pocket, she brought out a metal cylinder and capped the mouthpiece carefully, as if the horn were an extension of her body. I want to be ready for a gig we got at the Dakota. Coming up soon. Still having trouble memorizing those diminished scales.

What scales?

Sam chuckled. Never mind. Lots of sharps and flats. To you, it’d sound like Arabian hootchie-cootchie music.

If anyone knows hootchie-cootchie, it’s you.

Don’t laugh. I was famous once.

Oh?

Yeah. Remember the song by the rock group Traffic? ‘The Low Spark of High-heeled Boys’? That was me on the sax part.

That was you? Why didn’t you stay in the business?

Discrimination. Not race, but gender. All the producers wanted women for was to sing and look pretty. Instrumentals were for the dudes.

Ted looked at the saxophone Sam had propped on a stand. Various levers and rods ran down the length of it while bars and buttons popped out from the tangle of metal at unexpected places. It looked complicated, but overall it sparkled in golden colors.

Samantha offered him a seat and changed the subject. I thought you were dead, she said. Haven’t heard from you for months. Then I get this crazy e-mail. She leaned so close to his face that he could smell her vanilla perfume. I’ve seen the news coverage of the case. Were you out of your mind when you said yes to this one? Or was it the big bucks? Her eyes probed around his face.

Ted told her the case intrigued him and he felt sorry for Jensen. He shook his head. But I’m not taking the case.

Uh huh. I know why you’re up here with me. You’re tempted by this one, aren’t you?

How can you tell? All right, there are some things that are slightly interesting. What if I found something that the prosecutor would listen to and give Danny a break? Wouldn’t take much of my time, but it would help him.

You’re not telling me the truth.

What?

You’re bored making the big bucks now, and you’d like to get back in the action. Her eyes probed around his face.

Never.

She grinned, which split her cocoa-colored face around a white smile. She stood up and went into a small office next to the living room. She came out cradling a file folder. Where do you want to start?

Let’s talk to the shrink.

Just be careful, Teddy. Don’t bet all your money on this one, she lectured him.

That irritated him. Don’t worry.

She lifted an umbrella out from behind the couch. Then she led him out the front door, closed it, and secured the door with two locks. She looked at his new Mercedes. Law business is good, huh? She got into Ted’s car. They started for the appointment Ted had set with Dan Jensen’s doctor.

Sam bent forward to look at the sound system. What have you got here?

Okay, I know you won’t like the music selection.

Her eyes opened wide and showed brown orbs with an unusual gold shading around the edges.

We’ve been through this before, remember? He said.

Samantha laughed. She dug into a pile of CDs squashed in the side pocket of the door. What is this shit? Country? What’s wrong with you? She thumbed through them. ’Course, it fits you—lost dogs and broken-down love affairs.

Ted drove through downtown Minneapolis and got onto Minnehaha Boulevard, which led to the doctor’s office.

Ted drove the Mercedes, but it was leased by the firm. The car made him ten years younger when he drove it. The Veteran’s Administration Hospital sprawled over a bluff above the intersection of Minnehaha Creek and the Mississippi River. From the hospital, it was possible to see renovated Fort Snelling, one of the original white man’s settlements in the Minnesota Territory.

What’re we looking for? Sam asked.

Ted sighed. I’m not sure. Dan Jensen suggested I should talk with his shrink, so I made an appointment. Right now, I’m just curious.

And you have to tell Laurie something about why you’re looking at a criminal case again, huh?

Right. He glanced at her. My life is good now. I can’t go back into this stuff, Sam. I still think about that little girl. Katie was her name. When I screwed up, it meant she didn’t get justice.

Sam looked out the side window and said nothing. As they got near the VA Hospital, she turned back to him. You think you got problems? Too painful? Shut up. I know your history. You felt like dying back then, right?

Yeah.

When I was a cop, I killed a young boy in a basement. We thought he had a gun and wouldn’t put it down. Got over to him and found out it was a bicycle tire pump. Now, you try living with that. Then, the next thing, my sister died.

Ted felt irritated with another lecture.

You should listen to me, Teddy. I know what I’m talking about. You can’t hide from the broken parts of your life. In fact, they become the building blocks for healing and new growth.

Okay, okay. If that works for you, great. For me, this is the first time in my life I’m doing what I want to do. Not what my wife, or father, or anyone else wants. I’ll take care of myself, thank you.

We’ll see. Samantha smiled. But quit whining.

He turned the car into the grounds of the hospital. Ted parked the car, and they grabbed their folders and hurried into the main lobby. It was large, with big windows that allowed sunlight to flood the area. A receptionist directed them to the Psych Services area. They only waited five minutes before Dr. Jerome Strauss came out to greet them.

He was a tall, wiry man with gray thinning hair combed straight back from his forehead. It fell in a large cloud behind his ears to look like a Jewish Afro. Dr. Strauss removed a pair of tortoise-shell glasses and shook each of their hands. He motioned toward a hallway off the lobby. We’ll use one of our interview rooms.

Ted introduced Samantha Carter. She’s our investigator and the brains behind the whole operation. Sam smiled in response, although Ted had said this dozens of times before.

Strauss led them down a short hallway to turn into a room with a window next to the door. He settled them on soft chairs spread around a low table. He dropped a file on the table with a thump. The edges of the papers inside were curled from use.

Ted handed him the Release of Medical Information form. Dr. Strauss propped his glasses at the end of his nose, took the paper, and fitted it into the front of the file on the table. An unfortunate case, he said and removed the glasses.

Dr. Strauss, how long have you been seeing Dan Jensen? Ted asked.

A rubbery smile curled Strauss’ lips. Call me Jerry. My father was a rabbi, and he always thought the Catholic Church was the only legitimate dictatorship in the history of the world. I was named after one of the popes. Can you imagine when I was in Hebrew school as a kid? All my friends were named David or Samuel. I should have gotten therapy myself. He laughed at his own joke.

Okay, Jerry.

I started treating him when he returned from Afghanistan the last time. Let’s see. . . Strauss hefted the file onto his lap and extracted a thinner folder. He paged through it. Almost a year now.

How often did you see him?

Every other week for a one-hour appointment.

Did he benefit from your help?

Strauss sighed and leaned back in the chair. His IQ is average. Dan isn’t capable of a lot of introspection, but he’s a survivor and resourceful.

You called him an ‘unfortunate’ case? Sam said.

Strauss’ eyebrows lifted. The generals know all about how to win battles, but they forget about the human debris left behind—our own soldiers. You can’t believe the psychological damage done to these young folks.

He did four tours there.

Yes. An unusually high number of times.

He told me that he’s been diagnosed with PTSD, Ted said.

That’s correct. He tilted his head. As a matter of fact, Dan’s case was worse than many others. It’s common in battle zones. During World War I, soldiers came home from the trenches and displayed all the symptoms. It was known as ‘shell shock’ back then. In some ways, we’ve become better at diagnosing it, but not much better at curing it.

What would someone with post-traumatic stress disorder act like? Ted crossed his legs at the ankles.

Strauss took a deep breath. Want the Harvard lecture or plain English?

Let’s try English, Sam said.

"Imagine you’re driving with your two children in the car when you get a green light and start through an intersection. Some jerk ignores his red light and you see him roaring straight at the door where your child is strapped into the seat. It’s happening so fast you can’t stop it and can’t avoid it. After the crash, you find that not only have you survived, but your kids have also. Post-traumatic stress is the result